Avengers, Part One: Time after Time
by theicemenace
Summary: An offhand remark from Tony Stark sends Clint Barton on a trip down memory lane where he relives his training and education for SHIELD. Enrolled in college, he meets a young woman who will change his view of the world in a profound way.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and sometimes non _compos mentis ladygris_.

Gracias,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 1**

**New York City**

**Stark Tower**

**Post-Loki**

The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the windows of the buildings surrounding Stark Tower. Most of the damage incurred during the battle with Loki's army had been repaired. Naturally, Stark had made the living quarters a priority so that now Clint and the other members of the Avengers lived in luxurious comfort. Stark's AI, JARVIS, was at their beck and call day and night. Anything they wanted or needed was theirs for the asking.

Clint preferred to do for himself, though he had to admit that it was nice not to have to worry about all the little things that came with being an adult living in the big city. Clint had been on his own since he'd left the Coney Island Circus at the age of eighteen. His day to day life after that had been a struggle just to stay alive until a not-so-chance meeting in the town of Cedar Hill just outside of Dallas, Texas. That's when it had all changed, and for the better. Though sometimes he wasn't sure about that last part, especially after recent events.

Phil Coulson had taken him before SHEILD director Nick Fury. Clint had stood there in the middle of Fury's office, eyes straight ahead as the man had walked around him, assessing, evaluating, appraising. Fury stopped in front of him, his one eye boring into Clint's mind and soul, before turning his back and going to one of computer consoles stationed around the vast room.

The archer let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when Fury said, "Take him." He waited until Clint had left the room to speak to Coulson again. "See to it he's trained and educated."

"Yes, sir."

He'd spent more than a year going through the most rigorous training he'd ever imagined. Hand-to-hand, weapons, stealth, infiltration, espionage, computers, intelligence, counterintelligence, flying, languages. They'd taught him to blend in, to become one with his environment, to appear as if he belonged.

After that, Coulson had enrolled him in college. Clint had argued against it, but Coulson had been adamant.

Sitting on one of the plush sofas in the common area, Clint tried to keep his mind on the book he was reading, but thoughts of Coulson, of losing his best friend kept him from doing so. He went to the bar, took a beer from the cooler, twisted off the top and drank deeply. Though tempted to keep drinking until the all the horrible memories of his time as Loki's slave stopped, he didn't and wouldn't. He'd seen up close and personal how alcohol could make matters worse rather than better. There were other routes he could take, but he'd never had even the smallest desire to experiment with illegal mind-altering substances. He didn't even like taking over the counter pain meds, though sometimes it was necessary.

That naturally reminded him of the fact that he'd so easily succumbed to Loki's assault. The SHIELD doctors, his friends, everyone who had been affected by Loki and his army had tried to convince him that there was nothing that he could've done to stop the demi-god from taking over his mind, unmaking the man that he'd been and replacing him with one who would do Loki's every bidding without question, concern for his own safety or remorse. He'd killed his fellow agents, and that fact was what kept him awake at night months after it happened.

As it was, once he'd returned to himself, it had taken nearly everything they had to finally defeat Loki. Even while fighting the other realm army, he kept seeing Loki touching his chest with the scepter, felt the burning inside his head as he was unmade again and again, like a recording set to repeat the same scene over and over.

"You keep making that face and it'll get stuck that way."

His thoughts jerked back to the present to see Pepper Potts dressed as always in an elegant yet professional manner. Today it was a black dress with white around the collar, white button and her hair drawn back into a ponytail. She grinned at him when he responded, "It already has. How are you, Ms. Potts?"

"Pepper, please, Agent Barton. And I'm doing quite well, thank you."

"Clint." She nodded and he would've said more, but they were joined by Stark.

"Not tryin' to steal my girl, are you, Barton?" Stark gave Pepper a quick kiss.

One side of Clint's mouth lifted in a half-smile as he left them alone. He stepped out onto the patio breathing in the warm air of New York approaching summer. Glancing over his shoulder, Clint saw the couple talking quietly. They kissed again and Pepper walked down the hall out of sight. Moments later, Stark came to stand at his side, beer in hand. He had sensed Clint watching him and gave him a rueful grin. "What's the matter, Legolas? Never been in love before?"

Before he knew it, Clint had traveled into the past, only this time he went much farther than the months since their defeat of Loki.

**Twelve Years Ago**

**New York City**

**Central University**

It was a pleasant fall day in New York City. The breeze rustled the few leaves still on the trees and fluttered the loose ones along the grass and sidewalks. Clint hitched the plain black backpack higher on his shoulder and walked confidently into the rotunda of NY Central University. Students, professors and staff walked here and there while others sat alone or in groups.

While it hadn't been his idea to enroll, he found himself looking forward to this new experience with more than a little anticipation. Most of his education, if it could be called that, had come from the orphanage, the circus or the streets. Scars on his body tracked the harder lessons learned. Most would fade with time. The emotional scars would take much longer to heal, if ever.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he opened the campus map he'd been given, located the building he wanted then looked around. From this vantage point, he couldn't see the names of the buildings. And the directions he'd written down didn't help either. He saw things better from a distance. If he could find a high perch, this would be a cinch.

_Walk between Physics and Liberal Arts, cross the rotunda, turn right at the sign 'In memory of Dr. Marjorie Pelham, PhD' and it's on the left._

He had walked all over the one and a half acres of grass, trees, flowers and concrete, but hadn't found the sign or the building. He'd just located a building that would serve his purpose when a voice spoke to him.

"You look lost. Can I help?"

Clint's reflexes kicked in and he spun around ready to chuck the backpack at his attacker to defend himself, but standing in front of him was a very attractive African-American woman with laughing brown eyes. She was slim, shorter than him by a couple of inches, dressed in blue jeans, a chocolate brown cowl necked sweater with fall leaves dancing across the front, a light jacket and a red and gray backpack. Shifting her weight brought his eyes down to where her feet had been shoved into dark brown suede boots with lambskin peeking out the top and ties with puffy balls on the ends. Suddenly realizing that she was waiting for an answer, he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Looking for the English building."

She laughed. "American Lit?"

"Yeah."

"Come with me." She started walking and he fell in beside her. "You'll find your way around eventually."

"I usually have a good sense of direction." She laughed again and he found himself wanting to keep talking to her just to hear that sound again.

"Which won't help you on _any_ university campus in the continental United States because they do _not_ conform to logic." She came to a stop. "Here we are. When's your next class?"

Clint shrugged. "Not until after lunch."

"Great. You'll find the food court by coming out the front door, turn right and follow the smell of grease and carbs. See ya around." Taking a step back, she turned and strode purposefully away, hands in her pockets.

When she cast a glance over her shoulder, he realized he'd been standing and staring at her, forcing the other students to step into the grass to go around. Someone bumped into him and he pulled his gaze from the girl's swaying backside. Smiling for the first time since he couldn't remember when, he entered the building, located the room and found a seat in the back away from the windows. There was a second door. A twist of the knob told him was locked, though a well-placed kick would easily splinter the wood and allow him to get away. He didn't think anyone would come after him here, but experience had taught him that constant vigilance was the only way to go.

After his parents had died, he and his brother had been placed in a foster home. He'd been told that it was difficult to find a home to take siblings so he'd counted himself lucky that he and Barney were placed together. That is until the father had started using the two of them for a punching bag. They'd been there for less than a week the first time it happened. Barney had come to his defense and had received a beating for his efforts.

At the end of two weeks, the brothers had run away only to be picked up by the police and split up. But they didn't like being separated so they ran away again. And again and again until their caseworker's supervisor made the decision to send them to one of the few orphanages left in Iowa run by Dr. Jamison Childress. The children in the orphanage weren't physically or emotionally abused, but they weren't treated like "family" either.

No, they were treated as if they were an experiment the staff was conducting to see how little affection a child could have and still grow up "normal." Their caretakers were strict, yet fair when infractions were committed, though they seldom gave praise or punishment. And Child Protective Services, already overworked, hadn't the time or resources to make more than two or three visits a year

After six years, the brothers ran away and joined Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders. There, Clint was trained as a marksman with a bow and arrow as well as a variety of swords and knives. He also trained as a part of the high wire act and even filled is as a clown now and then, though he didn't care for that as much as the trapeze. Above all else, he preferred a bow and a quiver of arrows.

"Good morning. My name is Nancy Crosse. Welcome to American Literature. We'll be focusing on authors from the last twenty to thirty years in the first few weeks of class." The woman standing in front of the blackboard was on the plump side, fortyish with glasses and short brown hair. Her voice was smooth as satin and cultured with a telltale New York accent. "We'll start by introducing ourselves. Name, home town, area of study and anything else you'd like to share."

Slouching down in his seat, his jacket bunched up around his ears, Clint did his best to go unnoticed, and it worked for a while. He was about to pat himself on the back for a job well done, when a hand slammed on the desk in front of him.

"Dude, she's talking to you."

Straightening in his seat, Clint now saw that he was being watched by the entire class. The twenty pairs of eyes on him made him edgy. He used one of the techniques for calming his mind taught to him by the Swordsman during his training. "Ma'am?"

"Care to share with the class?"

Resting his left ankle on his right knee, Clint crossed his arms. "I'm good."

"Your classmates and I would like to be able to call you by name. It's so much more personal than calling you 'that guy in the bomber jacket.' Don't you agree?"

Her tone didn't leave any room for argument. She already had his information. Standing, he hesitated a moment before giving the alias he'd enrolled under. He'd wanted to take a name that had special meaning for him, but everyone that had meant anything to him was either dead or he didn't want to be reminded of them. All but one person. The man whose idea it had been for him to be here. The man who had taken him off the streets where he'd been living hand to mouth for over a year. The man who saw something in Clint he hadn't known was there. The man who had provided all of the unimpeachable documentation he would need to prove his false identity and background. "Clint. Clint Coulson."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 2**

Professor Crosse held her hands together in front of her, taking a few steps closer to Clint. "And what would be your hometown, Mr. Coulson?"

At the use of his assumed surname, Clint let just a little of the smirk slip out. "Boston. My field of study is Criminal Justice." Out of habit, he clasped both hands behind his back. It was something he'd learned in the orphanage and had served him well throughout his life.

"So we have a budding police officer in our midst."

Clint let a smirk come over his features, one eyebrow raised. "To start."

She betrayed very little surprise at his admission then nodded and he resumed his seat as she returned to the front of the room. "Now does anyone have a favorite author?"

And so began Clint's first taste of formal education since grade school, not counting when Agent Coulson had helped him study for his high school equivalency test. Clint had managed a passing grade though it was more due to Coulson's persistence than anything. Still, it had gotten him here, the first step to a life in service to his country and his world. Well, once that little misunderstanding had been cleared up.

"Mr. Coulson, who is your favorite author?"

He hadn't read a book for pleasure in years. Quickly searching his memory for a name, any name, he came up with one he'd seen on the cover of a book carried by another student. "Richard Castle."

"Ah. Another fan of thriller and suspense." Crosse walked to the back of the room to lean against a table near him. The other students turned to follow her progress. "Do you have a favorite of his?"

Shrugging, Clint turned sideways, hooking one arm over the back of his chair, the picture of casualness while he thought furiously of how to divert attention from himself onto someone else. "Not really."

The lie came easily and he knew no one could possibly have seen any tells because he'd long ago learned to suppress them. While performing, one small movement, the twitch of an eyelid or a pursing of the lips at the wrong time could mean that he would miss the shot or it could be the end of someone's life. Your entire being had to be focused on your objective whether it was putting an arrow in the bull's eye or walking the tightrope.

Crosse accepted his response. "So, what do you think makes an author a best seller? Subject matter? Prose? Rhetoric?"

The question sparked a lively debate that Clint didn't involve himself in. Not right away. Though it did get him to thinking. This, apparently, was the purpose of him being here in the first place. That it was working annoyed, amused and gratified him all at once. Crosse had a natural way of engaging her students that Clint frankly envied. By the time class ended, he'd actually voiced several opinions and had asked a question or two.

Taking his backpack in hand, he hooked it over his right shoulder to leave his dominant left hand free. His stomach growled reminding him that breakfast had been hours ago. Turning right, he walked until he smelled food then followed his nose to the food court.

~~O~~

The patio was deserted due to the cold weather, but the inside of the food court bustled with activity. The scents of various foods combined making Naomi nauseous. She ignored the sensation, stabbing her fork into her salad bowl and chewing vigorously as she used the other hand to write in the spiral bound notebook and turn the pages in a thick textbook. Her continued internship with the university was dependent on periodic reports and she still had a ways to go to finish this latest one. Soon, she'd be heading up her own psychological research team and this would go a long ways to make sure that happened.

Reaching for her coffee cup and finding it empty, Naomi went for a refill. Not watching where she was going, she ran into a firmly muscled chest making him drop his own coffee cup, splashing the dark brew all over his boots. "Oh, no!" She grabbed a handful of napkins to soak up the spill.

"No harm done." He squatted next to her taking some of the napkins to help. "Hello again."

The voice was familiar…barely. Tilting her head back, her apologetic gaze met a pair of blue-gray eyes she'd seen earlier that day for the first time. "I'm so sorry. Oh, it's you. I didn't get your name."

"Clint."

Naomi stood and so did he. "I'm Naomi." They walked to the trashcan together. "Let me get you a refill." She filled Clint's cup and handed it back. "Kinda crowded in here. Wanna share a table?"

"Ah…" Naomi could see he was about to refuse, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape though not out of fear. Most men were intimidated by her, but not him apparently. Suddenly, he smiled, and the wariness she'd seen and sensed at their meeting in the rotunda faded though not completely. "Sure."

He slid into the seat next to hers, his back to the wall. For the most part, Clint kept his eyes on her, but every few minutes they would dart around, closely scrutinizing each person who came in and the people around them. Not one of them even looked their way. He lifted the cardboard cup and took a sip. "Thanks."

Closing the notebook, Naomi set it out of the way, his eyes following her movements. "So, uh, what's your next class?"

"Advanced Geometry."

"Advanced? Hmm. If you ever need a study-buddy, let me know."

She watched Clint take a long drink then set it aside. "I'm good."

Confidence and assurance seemed to ooze out of Clint as she leaned fractionally closer, lowering her voice. "Then _you_ can help _me_, 'cause I _suck_ at it." His short bark of laughter made her smile. She dropped her eyes to the table then raised them back to his. "I'm glad you laughed or this would've been _really_ awkward."

~~O~~

Clint had been about to thank the young woman who had helped him earlier when she dumped her coffee on him. He'd made a promise a long time ago not to get involved with anyone except as friends. His usual modus operandi was to let _her_ make the move and then politely decline the offer-whatever it was. Yet, for the first time in so long he couldn't put a date on it, he wanted to initiate a conversation with a woman. Strike that. A _very_ attractive woman.

Naomi's skin was the color of coffee with a double dollop of cream. Not the cold, straight-from-the-refrigerator cream. The warm frothy kind that floated on the surface and into which some industrious souls created designs. He could tell by the faint lines at the corners of her eyes that she not only loved life, she rejoiced in it. Her smile was spontaneous and nearly impossible to resist. Every time the corners of her mouth turned upward, he felt the muscles in his face doing the same and had to force himself to keep a blasé, care-nothing mask in place.

Her warm brown eyes sparkled with intelligence, humor and an indefinable…something that stayed just out of his reach. And as she waited for him to respond to her flirting, Clint realized that, for the first time, he was experiencing true, unadulterated, natural charm.

He spread out a napkin and unwrapped the sandwich he'd purchased with the coffee. "I find that hard to believe."

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together over her nose. "That I suck at geometry?"

Pursing his lips to hide a smile, he lifted one eyebrow. "That you've ever been awkward. Physically _or_ socially."

Picking up her coffee, Naomi took a drink then held the cup in both hands, a wistful grin making her look much younger than her years. "Then you should've seen me the first day of ballet class. I looked like a frog in a pink leotard hopping around the classroom. So, uh, what about you?"

"Never took ballet." Clint waited until she'd taken another drink to continue. "The _trapeze_, though…" he shuddered, "…even had to wear _tights._" He patted her on the back while she choked, passing her a napkin with the other hand. What he'd said wasn't the truth, but not a lie either. Everything he'd learned at the circus required all the discipline and dedication that ballet did. More. If you fell or were dropped on stage, you might get a bruise, sprain or even break something that would end your dancing career. But if you fell hundreds of feet from the tightrope or trapeze, you were dead or close enough that it didn't really matter. The same went for knife throwing and archery.

"Trapeze? That's a _joke_, right?" Coughing one more time, Naomi took a sip of the lukewarm coffee.

"Is it? You're the psychologist." Nodding, Clint indicated the thick textbook on the table.

Her eyes explored his features, coming back to his eyes. "Jury's still out." She glanced at the clock then shoved her book and notebook into her backpack. "I have to go." Clint stood and helped her into her jacket, more thrilled with her smile of thanks than he should have been. "Maybe we'll run into each other again."

"Perhaps." He didn't put much faith in a third chance meeting though he wasn't adverse to it.

"Bye."

Resuming his seat, Clint took out a paperback he'd just purchased from the bookstore. In class, he'd claimed Richard Castle as his favorite author and figured he should read something of the man's work to lend credence to his statement. The feeling that he was being watched troubled him, but he ignored it thinking that it was his imagination. A byproduct of being in a strange situation.

He went back to reading and had barely gotten past the first page when he was disturbed by several young men noisily joining him. Thankfully, he recognized them as his American Lit classmates, his left hand not even twitching toward one of the many knives hidden on his person, all made of materials undetectable by the current security measures.

"_How_ did you _do_ that, Coulson?" Trevor Alston had been sitting immediately in front of Clint. The others, Jonathan Brewster III, Thomas Dobbins and Malloy Cutler looked on expectantly.

"Do what?"

"Dude," Alston nudged Clint with an elbow, "how did you get Miss Untouchable to talk to you much less let you sit with her?"

"Yeah. What's your secret?" Dobbins scooted his chair closer, one arm leaning on the table and the other holding the back of Clint's chair. He didn't appreciate the intrusion into his personal space, but didn't make an issue of it. At least not yet.

"What're you talking about?"

"Naomi 'I-am-_way_-out-of-your-league' DeLuca."

"There's no secret. _She_ spoke to _me_."

Cutler leaned over the table, lowering his voice. "That woman is single-handedly responsible for the cold front sweeping through the area this weekend."

"Really?" Clint flicked his eyes in the direction Naomi had gone then back to his unwanted companions, a small secretive grin crossing his features. "Hadn't noticed."

"Oh, man!" Cutler and Dobbins exclaimed together.

Alston gave an ironic chuckle to his cohorts, aiming a thumb at Clint. "This guy has no _idea_ how lucky he is."

_You don't know the half of it._ Then Clint got it. Brewster, Cutler, Alston and Dobbins didn't see Naomi as a _person_. They didn't see the beauty that was _inside_. All they saw was her outer allure. _Their loss._

Shoving his paperback into his backpack, Clint finished off his coffee and stood. Slipping into his jacket, he grabbed his backpack. "Here's some free advice, fellas. Think about how _you'd_ feel if Naomi or any other woman treated _you_ like a door prize." He leaned one hand on the table getting down close to the four men and letting a note of anger enter his voice. "Women aren't _trophies_. If you go into a relationship just looking to get laid, of course you're gonna get busted. But if you approach women with the objective of making a friend first, then the possibility exists that someday down the road, that friendship may turn into something more."

Alston, obviously the ringleader-Clint snorted internally at the irony-seemed to get it. "So you're saying, 'don't judge a book by its cover'?"

"Yeah. Naomi's probably figured out that all you want from her is a roll between the sheets and isn't up for any of your games. Now if you don't mind, I'd rather people didn't see us together and get the idea that I'm guilty by association." With that parting shot, Clint pushed out through the nearest exit and strode purposely away. He didn't have to be to his next class for thirty minutes. Taking out his map, he located the right building, flopping down on a bench and reading until it was time to go in.

**Two Weeks Later**

**Gateway Park**

The sun had been up for a while though it was still chilly when Naomi reached the park's jogging trail. She stretched through her warm-up then took off. Usually she wore headphones and kept her eyes glued to the sidewalk in front of her so she wouldn't trip, but today she watched the people around her, wondering what had brought them to this point in their lives. If she could sit down with them, it would all come out eventually. But most of these individuals wouldn't fall under the umbrella of her chosen area of research of the hero complex. She did, however, have to find subjects to interview and the park was a good place to start. Here she could get a workout and work on research at the same time. Especially if she was lucky enough to run into the Gateway Park Hero. The news had been reporting that a man in running gear had foiled several purse snatching and thefts from cart vendors. He would be a perfect subject for her research.

At the end of her first mile, Naomi stopped to get a drink from the bottle she carried, walking in circles so her heart rate wouldn't drop. She'd just started running again when a scream and a commotion over by the falafel cart caught her attention. Mugging, she thought as she headed in that direction.

As she got closer, she saw a crowd gathered. They were laughing and staring at something on the ground in front of them. Pushing her way to the front, she too began to chuckle. _All trussed up and nowhere to go!_

An unkempt man, homeless, a junkie or both, was rolling in a patch of brown grass, his wrists and ankles were tied, a dog's leash strung between them. He babbled something about being attacked, the crowd laughing even harder. Turning to the older man next to her, Naomi asked, "What happened?"

He shook his head, chuckling as he turned away. "He stole that lady's purse and swears _Batman_ swooped out of a tree, tied him up and gave the lady back her purse."

"Really?" Craning her neck, Naomi looked eagerly around. "Where'd he go?"

"No idea. I gotta get to the shop. People get a little testy when they don't get their dry cleanin' on time."

"Yeah. Sure." She asked a few more of the bystanders, but they just shook their heads and walked away. Frustrated, she drank down the rest of her water, tossed the bottle into the recycle bin and was about to resume her run when she nearly ran into a guy in sweats and a hoody.

"Are you following me?"

Stumbling backward, his hands holding onto her upper arms so she wouldn't fall, she looked up into blue-gray eyes filled with humor. "Oh, Clint. I wasn't…do you live around here?"

"Yeah." He pointed vaguely with his chin. "Few blocks."

Looking him up and down, Naomi tugged on the tie dangling from his hood. "Great. I'm gonna finish my run. Join me?"

"Sure." They set off at an easy pace.

"What's your usual route?"

He shrugged and she could tell that he was holding back in deference to her. Experimentally, she sped up and he increased speed to stay with her. "I change it up. Five to seven miles average." Clint glanced at her then faced front again. "You?"

"I run until I get hungry then stop for shawarma."

"What's, uh…"

"Shawarma?" Her expression of shock was greatly overdone making him smile. "Where did you grow up? The _moon?_"

He cleared his throat. "Close. Iowa."

"Well, you do _not_ know what you're missing. Why don't you come with me?" Her companion didn't respond. Thinking she might have insulted him without meaning to, she added, "My treat."

They jogged another hundred yards before he spoke, giving her the idea that he'd been about to refuse. "Okay."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 3**

"_How_ did I let you talk me into this?" Cutler, a lean freshman, wasn't happy to be where he was when he could've been somewhere else that wasn't here. But somehow, his friend Trevor Alston had convinced him to join him on a very ill-advised field trip.

"My car's in the shop and I'm paying you to drive me around." Adjusting his compact binoculars, Alston's head slowly tracked from left to right. "Where the _hell_ are they going?"

"Why do you even care?"

Huffing, Alston answered without taking his eyes from the view. "I wanna know what that jackass Coulson is up to with Naomi."

"Is this because he got in your face about Naomi or that he did it in front of the guys?"

"And they say _football players_ are brainless."

_At least I'm smart enough not to be a stalker._ Cutler sat in the driver's seat, right wrist resting on the steering wheel and doing his best to pretend he wasn't really with his best friend. "Not funny, Trev. Why is this guy such a problem for you anyhow?"

He lowered the binoculars to face his friend. "I wanna know what Coulson did to thaw out the Ice Queen."

"Maybe she just doesn't like you."

"I'm on the football team, the baseball team and run track. What's not to like?"

"Maybe she doesn't like jocks. Ow! What was that for?"

Alston uncurled the fist he'd used to punch Cutler in the shoulder then went back to watching, turning side to side. First slowly then frantically. "Crap! Lost 'em!"

"That's it. Time to go before they call the cops and we get arrested." Starting the car, Cutler pulled into traffic, braking smoothly to a stop at the light. Glancing to the side, he saw Coulson and Naomi sitting at a cozy table for two in the Mulholland Shawarma Grill. He didn't draw Alston's attention to it or they'd be in this part of town for a few more hours and Cutler was anxious to get home to study. Crosse had assigned the class to read chapters nine through twelve of the latest John Grisham thriller and be ready to talk about them in class. From what Cutler had heard Crosse seldom assigned essays, preferring lively debates over grading papers.

Cutler was startled when Coulson laughed at something Naomi said, only the second time he'd seen the man do so since classes started several weeks ago. He drove on when the light changed, counting himself lucky that his companion didn't see. Alston was a high maintenance friend, though Cutler had nearly fifteen years of experience, which didn't always mean he had a handle on it. In a couple of years, Cutler would graduate with a degree in information technologies and Alston would either be a draft pick for the NFL or a high school football coach, depending on his grades. Cutler was betting on the second. But for the time being, it worked for both of them.

~~O~~

Pulling up in front of the apartment building, Special Agent Phil Coulson parked and turned off the engine of the non-descript mid-sized sedan. He got out, took a package from the back seat, locked the door then pocketed the keys as he walked to the entrance. Before going in, he took out his SHIELD-issued cell phone and his speed dial. He hadn't had to commit the number to memory because he'd created it specifically for this "op", as his protégé kept calling it. It had taken all Phil's persuasiveness to convince Clint Barton to enroll in college.

Phil had taken him to one of the techs to have all the necessary documents drawn up and told Barton to make up an alias. He still rolled his eyes at the thought that the younger man had chosen to go by the surname Coulson. With a rueful shake of his head, he supposed it was Barton's way of saying, "Screw you, Phil!"

"_Hello?_" Barton's voice was as friendly as it ever got, tinged around the edges with that inherent wariness and resentment that came with the kind of upbringing he'd experienced.

"Hey, it's your cousin Phil." Hearing a huff of annoyance, Phil grinned.

"_And you're calling _why?"

Barton sounded upset, but then he nearly always sounded that way to Phil. It was what it was and he didn't take it personally. Doing his best to keep the humor from his voice, he used the code they'd settled on. "I'm out front. Grams asked me to bring you some of her chocolate mint meltaway brownie bites." Holding the phone away from his ear, Phil waited for Barton's tirade to wind down. "Do you want them? If not, Sally and the kids…"

"_Yeah, fine. Come on up._"

The front door unlocked and, eschewing the elevator, he climbed to the fourth floor. Barton's apartment was at the end of the hall on the left, the most defensible of all the rooms as it was at the topmost corner in the rear of the building. He knocked using a code that would seem random to the uninitiated and the door opened on Barton's scowling face. He stood back to let Phil in.

When the deadbolt and the other three self-installed locks had been re-engaged, Barton led the way to the living room, setting the compact Beretta in his left hand on the end table before flopping onto the sofa and resting his sock covered feet on the coffee table. The bedroom door was open and the desk in full view where Barton had his computer, textbooks and spiral bound notebooks showing evidence of use. A guitar lay on the unmade bed. "Brownies?"

Phil tossed him the metal tin, unbuttoned the front of his suit jacket and made himself comfortable in the overstuffed armchair, head tilted down though his eyes were on Barton as he opened the tin, took out one of the brownie bites and popped the entire thing in his mouth.

"Thought you'd want them analyzed by the lab first." Shrugging, Barton went into the kitchen, open and closing cabinets. Moments later, he handed Phil a cup of coffee then resumed his seat. "Sis sends her love." (Natasha says hello.)

"I'm sure she does. You here to check up on me?"

He waited for Barton to swallow before saying, "It wasn't _my_ idea."

"How _is_ Uncle Nick these days?"

"The same as always."

"Too bad."

Making a silent snort of agreement, Phil waited for Barton to speak. When he didn't, the agent sipped his coffee before asking, "How are classes going?" Barton shrugged but didn't say anything, and that in itself told Phil the younger man had much to say. "Tell me."

Barton stalled by taking a drink then carefully setting the cup back on the end table. "Okay so far. There's a guy who keeps baiting me."

"Wants you to hit him so he can sue?"

"He just won't let up. Even followed me the other day when I went for a run."

He looked briefly away, telling Phil there was more to the story than Barton was saying. Probably involved a woman to whom he was attracted for Barton to give so much away. "And you, of course, are not rising to occasion, which only fuels his aggravation." Phil felt more than saw Barton's agreement. All those months of supervising his physical and mental training had seen to it that the two men were able to read each other's moods. Phil had been taught how to use his natural abilities to give him an advantage as had Clint, though Clint's had been gained as a side effect of his time with the circus. To be successful as a carnie, you had to be able to read people.

"Yeah."

"Need me to intervene?"

"I got it." Finishing off his coffee, Barton put the lid on the tin, shoved the Berretta in the back of his pants then carried the cups to the kitchen.

Satisfied that all was as good as it could be with Barton, Phil slipped out the front door and was gone without taking leave. Barton didn't most of the time so Phil followed his lead knowing it was more about cutting ties quickly, like taking off a band-aide. If you felt the need to say good-bye, it meant that you had emotional ties to that person. Barton didn't connect with anyone emotionally, least of all himself. He never talked about his parents or his brother, though he knew Phil had checked him out. And Phil knew everything: all his childhood diseases, the wisdom teeth he'd had out at fifteen and the tattoo on his backside. Barton hadn't been happy when Fury had ordered it removed.

With a sigh, Phil pulled away from the curb, quickly memorizing the tag of the vehicle parked down the street. It had been there when he went inside and was still there. Though the person behind the wheel did a good job appearing as if he was just waiting, but Phil's instincts told him differently. He took out his phone, dialed a secure number and gave his password. "I need everything you've got on New York tags RGK-226. Send it to my PDA."

~~O~~

After changing into slacks, turtleneck, a knit cap and soft soled shoes, all in black, Clint shoved compact binoculars with night vision into his back pocket. He waited until Coulson was gone before slipping down the back stairs. Moving soundlessly from shadow to shadow in the chilly night air, he slowly approached a close grouping of bushes, secreting himself inside. This particular spot was perfect for reconnoitering. The lights from the street and the buildings on both sides were blocked by huge trees that somehow still had most of their leaves. No one would see him. Least of all the candy ass in the car.

Clint brought the binoculars to his eyes and peered at the occupant of the dark two-door. Alston's eyes were glued on the front of Clint's apartment building when he wasn't glaring at his watch. It wasn't a stretch of the imagination that Alston was trying to find out if Clint and Naomi were sleeping together.

Well, the joke was on him. Aside from them coincidentally living in the same area, they had nothing in common. Naomi was outgoing, intelligent and cheerful, and Clint was none of those things. Oh he had streets smarts, as his mentor in Carson's Carnival had called it. It wasn't the kind of smarts that got you a degree in a high-paying field like a surgeon, CEO or astronaut. At lunch the other day Naomi had told him about the research she was doing at the university. He almost laughed out loud that the subject matter was people with a hero complex, but he didn't. At the moment, the closest thing he had to a friend was the man who had just left. Someone who had no friends couldn't afford to alienate someone who might become one.

Deciding to let Alston stew in his own juice for a while, Clint faded into the shadows and returned to his apartment. He had homework to finish before class on Monday, but had lost his momentum when Coulson had called. Taking out his guitar, he tuned it by ear then began playing the first song that came to mind, _Brown Eyed Girl_.

He'd hoped the music would calm his mind. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect on the rest of him. Putting the instrument aside, he changed into pajamas, brushed and flossed, made one last check of the doors, windows and concealed weapons, carrying the Beretta and his favorite fighting knife with him. He slipped the weapons under his pillow and crawled under the covers.

~~O~~

Trevor Alston checked the time, slamming his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. He'd been watching the front of Coulson's apartment building for hours, but Naomi hadn't come out yet. His plan had been to follow them from wherever they had dinner. That hadn't worked out. His car wouldn't start and by the time the auto club had gotten there it was too late. So he'd come to Coulson's apartment to wait and sure enough, Coulson's pick-up pulled in a few minutes later. He helped her out, both of them carrying bags of groceries, with Coulson doing the heavy work by taking control of a twelve pack of beer.

Even giving them time to prepare and eat dinner then get cozy for a while, she'd been in there a long time and Coulson didn't seem the type to let a woman stay the night.

Around midnight, Alston finally gave up and drove home. On the drive, he had plenty of time to think about what he was doing. Alston had been trying to get a date with Naomi for months, and all he'd gotten was frostbite. He'd seen the way women looked at Coulson and had to know what it was about him that caused them to follow his every move.

Was he jealous of Coulson? Or was it something else? He wasn't really interested in anything long term with Naomi, or any other girl, but why wouldn't she even say hello to him? Let him share her table? What was it that Coulson had that he didn't?

Alston hadn't reached any conclusions by the time he got home. He went inside, being careful not to wake his parents and sister, and got into bed.

~~O~~

The next morning dawned clear and sunny though storms were due the next three days with the possibility of snow by the middle of the week. Clint woke early just as he always did then just laid in bed for nearly an hour just listening to nothing before his bladder made its displeasure known.

In the kitchen, he started coffee then took eggs, Canadian bacon, onions, green peppers, cheese and milk from the fridge for his breakfast. When his omelet was in its final stages, he dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, returned the leftover omelet ingredients to the fridge and took out butter and Marion blackberry preserves. The fruit spread was relatively expensive, but worth it.

Clint swirled the omelet around in the non-stick pan and slid it neatly onto a plate just as the toast popped up. He buttered the crispy slices, spread a little of the preserves on both and cut them corner to corner. Carrying everything to the small dining table, he sat down to eat. His first bite brought to mind the last time the Bartons had eaten Sunday breakfast as a family. None of them had any idea that he and Barney would be orphans before dinner that same day.

Some people ate in front of the television and some liked to listen to music. Clint liked the quiet first thing in the morning, especially Sunday mornings when the sounds of the city were relatively low-key until his neighbors started waking up.

He'd just finished the last bite of toast when someone knocked on his door. Reaching under the table, he wrapped his left hand around the grip of the Berretta he kept there, slipped the safety off and crept to the door. Using the peephole, he saw that it was his neighbor from downstairs. Her car was in the shop so he'd offered to take her for groceries. Cringing, he realized she was smiling holding a plastic dish in both hands.

Tucking the Berretta into the back of his pants and covering it with his shirt, he eased the door open. An African-American woman a little older than he stood there holding a covered bowl. Her hair was short, stopping just at her chin, her big brown eyes expressive and shining with an inborn happiness.

"Sorry to bother you so early, Clint, but I knew you'd be up. I mean you're always up so I thought…never mind. I want to thank you for everything you did yesterday. All that fuss and I ended up making chicken and dumplings. And since you wouldn't let me pay for your gas and time, I thought you might like the leftovers." She held out the bowl and Clint took it just to be polite.

"Happy to do it, Vanessa. I'd ask you in but…"

"Oh, no, I can't stay. Gotta get ready for church. My fiancé's coming home today and he doesn't like chicken and dumplings, so you enjoy." That's when Clint noticed she was dressed in green flannel pajamas with Teddy bears all over and matching slippers.

"Well, thank you. I'll get the dish back to you this week."

"Y'welcome. And don't bother. It's disposable. Bye."

In the kitchen, he was about to toss out the good intentions of his neighbor then he thought better of it and put it in the fridge. He would have lunch while he was out running errands and the leftovers he'd keep for dinner.

Rinsing his breakfast dishes, Clint stacked them in the dishwasher then carried a fresh cup of coffee to the bedroom, sat down at the desk and booted up the computer. The cold metal of the gun on his back was a reminder that he didn't trust easily. But with Vanessa, that's _exactly_ what it was. Easy. She had been the only resident of his building to welcome him and offer to help carry boxes. And she'd seemed disappointed that he only had a few personal possessions and no furniture, the apartment coming fully furnished.

Vanessa had lived in her apartment on the ground floor for nearly fifteen years, since she graduated from the same university where he was currently enrolled, and apparently knew were all the bodies were buried. She was also eager to share that knowledge quite freely and did on a regular basis whether he was listening or not, most often while they were doing laundry in the basement.

Finally his computer came up bringing his attention to why he'd come in here in the first place. He gathered his thoughts regarding their most recent reading assignment in order to get them down on paper. Using the paperback as a reference, he opened the document he'd begun the night before and started typing. He wasn't much of a typist, but he could hold his own. It was one of the things that Coulson had insisted he learn. Even considering that home computers were somewhat new, he could use a computer better than the general public.

Hours later, he reached for his coffee cup only to find it empty, the last few drops dried in the bottom. Getting to his feet, he stretched, yawned and scratched his stomach through the material of his gray T-shirt then padded out to the kitchen.

At a good stopping point, Clint decided against starting a fresh pot. Instead, he changed his clothes, armed himself with several knives and the Beretta, grabbed the case that held his recurve bow, a quiver of non-lethal arrows and took the stairs two at a time down to the first floor, got in his truck and took off down the street. His errands wouldn't take long, but they did provide a much needed distraction from the impasse he'd come to in the writing he was doing for American Lit. Getting his mind off of it was the only way he knew to shake everything loose inside his head. It wasn't that Crosse had assigned the class to write a book report. It was that he wanted to have his arguments ready with the facts to back them up as well as questions he was going to ask during their usual debate.

Now that his mind wasn't stuffed full of John Grisham's implausible-to Clint-plotline, his mind turned to Naomi and what he was going to do about her, if anything. The night before, his dreams had been different. He'd dreamt of raising a family and growing old with a woman he cared about and who cared about him. It had awakened him in the middle of the night, leaving behind a feeling of confusion, knowing that his line of work was not conducive to long term relationships and certainly not to having kids. The thought of what his enemies, past or future, would do to this theoretical family had kept him awake for nearly an hour.

Clint reached the archery club in just a few minutes. He rented a private range and spent the next two hours performing some of his routines from the various circus' he'd worked in when he'd been known as the Amazing Hawkeye.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and sometimes non _comps mentis ladygris_.

Gracias,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 4**

Clint rolled out of bed late having slept through is alarm-the first time he could ever remember doing so-hurried to the kitchen to start coffee then dived into the shower before the water was warm. Shivering, he quickly lathered his hair and body then rinsing before shutting the water off. He grabbed a towel, rubbed it over his short hair, using the same one to dry the rest of him.

By the time he finished dressing, the coffee was done. He carried his backpack and sneakers to the living room, dropping them on the sofa. He poured a cup of coffee and took a long drink before dropping two slices of bread into the toaster. While that worked, he put on his sneakers and washed his hands. Hooking the backpack over his shoulder, he grabbed his keys, stuck the toast in his mouth and left the apartment making sure to set the alarm and lock all three locks.

Brushing the toast crumbs from his face and clothes, he tossed the backpack into the front seat, climbed in and took off without putting on his seatbelt. He hit the first light catching the tail end of the yellow. Not exactly legal, but not worth being pulled over for.

Class was already in progress when Clint arrived a few minutes late. Peeking in the window, he waited for Crosse to turn her back to write on the blackboard before easing the door open and tiptoeing to his seat. Slumping down, he mentally gave himself a high five at getting in unnoticed. His pride in pulling off a minor coup turned to chagrin when Crosse spoke without turning.

"So glad you could fit us into your busy schedule, Mr. Coulson." She turned from the blackboard, her brown eyes finding and holding his. "Class starts at _ten_, not ten oh five and certainly not at…" she glanced at the clock, "…ten-twenty. Going forward please be on time."

Her tone was as much of a reprimand as her words and Clint took them as such, responding automatically. He cleared his throat uneasily, the eyes of his classmates on him and sat up straight. "Yes, ma'am."

"And I expect you to participate in class as well, Mr. Coulson. Not just sit in the back of the room brooding."

"I don't…" Out of instinct, Clint started to refute her statement, but changed his mind. Crosse had to have kids because she was so good at giving the mom's stink eye. "Yes, ma'am."

"Who would like to start us off today?" With that, the debate began. And to everyone's surprise, Clint not only participated, he got them going with a perceptiveness about the characters and situation that bordered on genius. They would've been less impressed if they'd known of his other life. To these people, he wasn't Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye, a master marksman and agent with a super-secret government agency. They only knew him as Clint Coulson, college student. A little older than most, but not so much that it was worth commenting on.

As class was dismissed and his classmates filed out, Crosse again caught his gaze with hers, and with a single nod, gave her approval.

~~O~~

Marlie pushed the full grocery cart toward the back of the blue SUV. When she got close, she used the remote to open the back and the doors. She tucked baby Kellie into her car seat, put her purse under the front seat and returned to stack the groceries in the back. She'd just slammed the hatch when she was pushed to the ground and her keys wrenched from her hand. Her assailant jumped into the driver's seat, peeling out of the parking lot with her vehicle…and her child.

Getting to her feet, Marlie chased after the SUV. "STOP! Come back with my baby! NO! Come back!"

A man came to her side, gently yet urgently pressing a hand to her shoulder. Marlie had been on the edge of hysteria until the man touched her. Somehow, that soft and soothing voice immediately comforted her. "A man…he took my baby and my car!" She looked pleadingly into his blue-gray eyes. "Please! She's just a baby!"

"Which way did they go?" By now they'd gathered a crowd. Someone had already called the police. Marlie could hear the sirens coming close. The man shook her. "Which. Way?"

Turning side to side, her blond hair flying around her head, she pointed. "There! Oh, my poor baby!" The tears flowed faster. She turned to implore him again to hurry, but he was already running in the direction she'd indicated, his jacket on the ground in front of her. Several police cars screeched to a stop and the area swarmed with uniformed officers.

An older officer with a bored expression took his pad and pen out. "What happened, ma'am?" His boredom turned to anger as the mother recounted the story. Leaving one officer with the mother, the rest piled into their vehicles and sped after the fleeing suspect.

~~O~~

Clint's truck was on the other side of the parking lot, too far for him to double back, so he took off in the direction the young mother had pointed. His Berretta was strapped to his left ankle, but he didn't take it out just yet. The streets were bustling at this time of the day and if he had to start shooting, innocents could be hurt. He would just have to run the guy down.

Even in New York there couldn't be too many bright blue Mercedes Benz GT Class SUVs so Clint knew his chances of finding the perp were pretty good and sure enough, it was speeding north on Pacoima. There was a sharp curve up ahead that ran alongside the small lake. If the driver was going too fast, he could miss and he-and more importantly, the baby-would end up in the freezing water of Gateway Lake.

The light up ahead was notoriously short and he could see it was about to change. A few car lengths ahead, a guy rev the motor on his Ninja 500R, anxious to be moving or showing off, Clint couldn't tell. Didn't matter.

Clint came to a stop and jumped on the back of the Ninja. "Follow that blue SUV!"

Nearly jumping out of his skin, the biker asked, "What the hell!"

"Baby was kidnapped!"

"Why didn't ya say so?" With a twitch of his shoulders, the bike's driver gave his opinion of someone who would stoop so low as to kidnap a child, dropped into gear, wheeled around to drive between the rows of cars. The biker gunned the throttle, blowing through a light and gaining on the SUV.

When they got close, Clint leaned forward. "Slow down. Get up next to it." The biker did as Clint asked keeping steady pace with the much larger vehicle. "Keep 'er steady! When I'm gone, peel off and let me handle it."

Biker Man nodded, keeping the two wheels on a straight course as Clint stood on the foot rests. Using the driver's shoulders to balance, Clint got first one foot then the other onto the rear seat. Lifting his arms and shifting his feet, he turned sideways, gauging the distance then jumped onto the side of the SUV, his feet on the foot rail and holding tight to the luggage rack. They swerved when the driver realized what had happened while Clint climbed onto the top rolling over to the driver's side and flipping landed on the foot rail on that side. The driver saw him and began swerving back and forth randomly trying to shake him off, and just as Clint had feared, the driver lost control on the curve.

The SUV bounced over the curb plowing into the brown grass scattering the few ducks and geese that hadn't made their trek south to warmer climates yet. The impact caused Clint to lose his grip and he went flying. Ducking and rolling, he came to his feet not more than twenty yard from the SUV.

From inside, he could hear the baby crying while the driver shook his head to clear it. The man opened the door and took off running with Clint in hot pursuit as he weaved around kids and their parents, casting the occasional glance back to see if Clint was still following.

When a dog ran into his path, the would-be kidnapper and car thief easily avoided the animal. But he was brought to the ground just a few feet away when Clint went over instead of around the picnic table where an elderly couple sat eating, grabbed the lid to the metal trashcan and threw it. The circle of metal sailed through the air hitting the fleeing suspect in the back of the knees.

Clint was on the guy before he could even think of getting up again. He twisted the guy's arms behind his back and waited for the cops to come. The sirens shut off and they were both surrounded by heavily armed cops within seconds.

The police drew and aimed their weapons, one with a shotgun. "Hands on your head, buddy!"

Lacing his fingers together behind his head, Clint got to his feet and turned to face them as a crowd gathered. The older of the officers relaxed. "Stand down, boys. He's not the one."

"You sure, Sarge?"

"Yeah. Mother said the guy was Hispanic and shorter." He nodded at the guy on the ground. "That's the one we want."

"Oh." He turned Clint loose, tucking his handcuffs out of sight. "Sorry about that, sir."

Clint didn't bother to respond. The cries of the baby drew him back to the SUV as an ambulance joined the free-for-all. When the door opened, the little girl stopped crying, one small hand in her mouth as her breathing hitched. Her chubby little cheeks were wet with tears as he unhooked her car seat and carefully lifted her out, cuddling her close. "Sh! It's okay. I've got you."

Running footsteps announced the arrival of two paramedics. One tried to take the baby, but Clint refused to relinquish her. Instead, he followed them to the ambulance, sitting in the open doorway with her on his lap while she was checked over.

His head snapped up when a frantic voice called out, "Kellie! Oh, my God! My baby!" He passed the little girl to her mother then stepped back out of the way as the blond hugged her child. A few minutes later, the paramedics advised the mother of what Clint had already known. That the baby was fine. Just a little scared.

Now that mother and child were reunited, and having given his contact info and statement to the police, he turned and walked away. His first stop was to see if he could find his jacket then return to the grocery parking lot, and his aborted shopping trip, where this had all started. As they drove past, the cops honked and waved, some even giving him a thumbs up. To be polite, he waved back.

Clint came to a stop when the mother's voice called out. "Hey! Please stop. Just for a minute." He waited for her to catch up to him, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he used all his will power not to shiver when a cold breeze pushed passed them. "I-I wanna thank you. You know, for what you did."

He tried to shrug off the gratitude. "Anyone would've…"

"I know. But _you're_ the one who did it. Um, I'm Marlene. Marlie to my friends and family. And this is Kellie." The baby girl looked at him and smiled though all the fingers of one hand were in her mouth.

"Clint."

The police had located Marlie's purse. She fished around inside and pulled out a pen and a piece of paper. "Here's my phone number, Clint. Give me a call. I want you to come to dinner next week and I know my husband would want to meet you, to thank you too."

Embarrassed at Marlie's gratitude, Clint just took the paper and shoved it in his pocket. "Sure." The sound of a tow truck hooking up to the damaged SUV interrupted the awkwardness of the situation. "Need a ride?"

"No. My husband's on his way. Don't forget to call."

Nodding, Clint smiled and turned away, walking quickly through the park. He found his jacket still in the middle of the street having been run over numerous times by people who didn't care that it was the only warm outerwear he had. When the traffic slowed, he trotted out to pick it up shrugging into it as he strode down the sidewalk. After that workout, he decided to skip his evening run, order a pizza and just veg out in front of the television.

Hours later, he awoke to the evening news, the cold remains of a supreme pizza and warm beer on the coffee table. He was about to shut it off when something the anchor said caught his attention, bringing with it the same feeling of embarrassment he had experienced this afternoon.

"_Repeating our top story tonight_." A wobbly and somewhat grainy video played with the anchor providing a voiceover. "_This was the scene this afternoon on Pacoima Boulevard when a Good Samaritan stepped into to rescue a kidnapped child._" Mortified, he watched himself stand on the back of the fast moving motorcycle and jump onto the SUV. He covered his eyes with his hands, not wanting to see his deeds played out for the world to see. "_The names of the child and the man who made the fantastic rescue have not been released by police. Our prayers and thanks go out to both. And now, here's Brad Scott with news from the world of sports. Brad?_"

In the circus, he had basked in the attention, the sound of cheering crowds and the applause, but now, he just wanted to live a quiet life. To be normal or at least pretend he was just for a while. But he should've known better. He wasn't meant to be that sort of person.

It didn't take much cogitation for him to come to the decision to withdraw from his classes in the morning and return to the SHIELD compound. From there he'd probably be sent for some advanced training then eventually he'd be given missions to complete. Until he'd proven himself, he'd have a partner and he was fine with that.

Shutting off the television repeating that embarrassing video for the third time, Clint got to his feet and went to the bedroom. Taking his wallet from his back pocket, he tossed it on the desk where it landed next to the paperback book they were studying in American Lit. Snatching it up, he dropped it and the paper with Marlie's home number into the trashcan before stripping off his dirty clothes and taking a shower.

In the morning, Clint dressed for his run and headed out to the park. The spot where he usually met up with Naomi was just ahead and he smiled in anticipation of seeing her. That is until Phil stepped into his path.

"We need to talk."

Clint kept moving. "Later. I'm meeting someone."

"Now." Though his expression and voice didn't change, Clint sensed the order in this tone and stopped walking to face him.

"Fine." Crossing his arms, his feet shoulder width apart, Clint waited.

"I saw the video. Unfortunately, so did Uncle Nick and the others."

"The others" was code for the council which oversaw SHIELD. Huffing in annoyance, Clint dropped his arms to his sides. "And?"

"You're supposed to be keeping a low profile, Clint." In public, they didn't use their real names. "How is getting your face on the evening news accomplishing that?"

"A baby had been kidnapped during a carjacking, _Phil_. Should I have left it up to the cops to take down the creep when _I_ could do something about it?"

Coulson betrayed just a little annoyance with Clint's insistence. "That's just what you should've done. They're more than competent to do the job."

Clint had to admit that Phil was right. But he also thought _he_ was right. "I'm dropping out today, and should be back at 'home' tomorrow."

"If you leave you'll draw even more attention to yourself and Uncle Nick would be quite…disappointed. You were to join the…family business following graduation, but without that degree…" Phil shrugged.

The argument continued-quietly-with neither side willing to give in until Clint just turned and walked away.

~~O~~

As Naomi came into the park, she saw Clint and smiled. She hadn't seen him except on that sensationalized and overplayed news story in almost a week and found that she missed his calm and quiet presence when he wasn't there.

Her smile changed to one of confusion when she realized that he was having an argument with another man. This stranger was a little older and shorter than Clint, but not by much, with slightly receding brown hair and a tranquil expression on his face even in the midst of the argument. He wore a suit under his tan cashmere top coat, held a matching fedora in both hands and an elegant plaid scarf was draped around his neck.

Clint paced, the stranger's head turning to follow as he moved. Finally, Clint stopped, hands on his hips, head down as he thought over what the other man had said. Naomi didn't know Clint that well, but she did recognize the pose. Whatever had happened between them, Clint was not happy, but he'd agreed.

Crouching, Naomi retied her cross-trainers just for something to do and when she looked up again, Clint was coming toward her. She waited for him and they fell into step without a word. By mutual unspoken agreement, they broke into a jog.

She could see him casting furtive glances at her, probably waiting for some mention of the news program. However, she refused to give him the satisfaction of denying her request for information though he knew it would help her research. Wishing _he_ would bring it up, she kept running.

When they reached their usual stopping point, he spoke for the first time. "Hot dog? On me."

Two could play this game. "Sure."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful and sometimes non _comps mentis ladygris_.

Gracias,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 5**

Eventually Clint just gave up and let Coulson have his way. He would stay in college, continue his education and SHIELD wouldn't fire him.

He joined Naomi and they went for their run. Along about the third mile he let go of the argument with Coulson and concentrated on enjoying Naomi's company. As they neared the hot dog cart, the smell of food cooking made his stomach growl. It seemed loud to him, but a quick glance at his companion told him it was his imagination.

He paid for their meal and led the way to a bench that faced the lake. Clint passed Naomi a napkin and a bottle of water as he chewed a bite of his Polish sausage with sauerkraut, spicy mustard and sautéed onions. His companion had a regular hot dog with relish, yellow mustard and ketchup making him cringe.

In the orphanage, the cook had either made everything with a ketchup "glaze" or it was so unpalatable that using the tomato-based condiment was the only way to choke it down. Each night the children would be given two oatmeal cookies for dessert and once a month there would be a white cake with white frosting and "Happy Birthday" written in blue. Never red, yellow, orange, green or pink. Just blue. Except at Christmas when red and green were used.

Now he loathed ketchup, oatmeal cookies _and_ white cake.

He watched Naomi from the corner of his eye and marveled at the joy she got from something as simple as eating a hot dog. And it wasn't just food that gave her joy. She found delight in almost everything she did whether it was working, running or sipping coffee while she read one of her research books. On their runs, she would sometimes stop and play Frisbee with a group or play with someone's dog for a while. He only wished _he_ got as much out of living as she did.

And that reminded him again of the video footage from the news and Coulson's visit. Clint had finally come to the grudging conclusion that the man was right. He _did_ have to stay, to continue his education so he could become the SHIELD agent Coulson and Fury thought he could be. And Natasha. She had faith in him too. Taken singly, he might not have stayed. But with so much riding on it, the disappointment of those three would weigh heavier than anything else had.

To show his appreciation, when he returned to his apartment, he would fish the book out of the trash to finish the assigned reading for next week's American Lit as well as the geometry homework still sitting on the desk.

The decision made, he turned to look at Naomi as she shoved the last bite of hot dog and bun in her mouth. It was a little too big making her look like a chipmunk and he couldn't help snorting.

She shot him a mock stern glare as she pushed the food around until she could talk. "Wha' 're woo waffin' a'out?"

Her garbled speech made him chuckle. "You look like you're storing nuts for the winter." He puffed his cheeks out in illustration.

In response, she slapped him on the shoulder. "'Top 'akin' 'un o' 'e!"

With an effort, Clint wiped the smile from his face. "Sorry. Can't do that."

"'Hy 'ot?"

Planting one elbow on his knee and resting his chin in it, he looked sideways at her, the grin back in place. "Because I'm finding this _very_ funny."

Naomi chewed, swallowed and washed it down with a long drink of water. "That was _mean_, trying to make me laugh. I could've choked."

"You're the one who took too big a bite. Choking to death would have been poetic justice."

"Really? And what would it be if I slapped the Halleluiah out of you?"

He contemplated that for a moment before answering. "Painful?"

She chuckled and turned sideways in her seat, left arm resting on the back of the bench, finally returning his grin. "Clint…"

"Hold still." Taking the remaining napkin, Clint scooted until their knees touched so he could wipe away a bit of mustard that had smeared her cheek. That close, he could smell her hair, and though they had just run five miles, it still retained the scent of her shampoo reminding him of cherry blossoms on an unseasonably warm March afternoon.

The first time he'd smelled them was when Tiboldt's had made an extended stop in Washington D.C. when he was fifteen. He had gone back to the garden several times, just standing and sniffing the air until he was forced to return to the site where they were camped outside of town. For his birthday that year, the owner had given him a second hand bike. The first that had been his alone and not one belonging to the other performers for use in the shows.

Clint also remembered that summer as the first time he had really noticed girls. Oh, he had seen girls his own age at every stop they had made, but now he began to see them not just as playmates, but as much more than that. And naturally that reminded him how long it had been since he had been intimate with a woman, almost a year ago. Not long before he had gotten involved in a situation that nearly ended his SHIELD career before it began.

Naomi turned her head when he finished wiping her cheek, their lips coming close to touching, filling him with the sudden urge to kiss her. From the look in her eyes and the way her lips parted as if in invitation, she felt it too. Clearing his throat, he moved back, picking up their trash and taking it to the can.

He returned to Naomi's side as she got to her feet. Not wanting their time together to end, he touched her on the arm. "Naomi…" From the corner of his eye, he saw someone he wasn't happy to see. His eyes narrowed in irritation. "Excuse me. Don't leave."

Making his way through the crowd around the hot dog cart, Clint headed for Alston who was sitting in his car peering at them through binoculars again. As soon as his feet hit the grass, Clint broke into a run. He was only a fifty yard sprint from his goal when he was spotted. The car peeled out of the parking lot leaving Clint staring at the back end of it.

The sound of running feet came to stop next to him. "What's going on?"

Debating if he should tell her the truth, he decided against it. "Nothing. Thought I saw someone I knew."

"That guy you were talking to before?"

"No."

She seemed to accept it as truth though her eyes gave away that she knew it was a lie. Or at least a half-truth. "Okay. Well, I need to get a shower and…"

Putting a hand out to stop her, Clint waited until she had faced him again. "I'm thinking about going to a movie or something tonight. Would you like to come along?"

Crossing her arms and thrusting one hip to the side, Naomi let a small smile turn up the corners of her lips. "Are you asking me on a date?"

Showing her a half smile of his own, he nodded. "Yeah."

Making a big show of thinking it over, the skin between her eyes crinkling, she tapped one foot. "Okay. I live at the Elmwood Apartments on, you guessed it, Elmwood. Pick me up out front at seven. I know this place that makes the _best_ burgers you have ever tasted."

"Looking forward to it." They watched each other without moving until he asked, "Walk you to your car?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I walked. See ya tonight."

Only after she'd passed out of sight did he realize that his pulse had shot up when she agreed to go out with him and was only now starting the slow return to normal. When exercising, he had a quick recovery rate, but this pounding of his heart was caused by something else. Physical attraction coupled with alarm.

In all his life, he'd never actually _dated_ a woman. Since the day he had turned sixteen and the daughter of Tiboldt's husband and wife contortionist act had relieved him of his virginity, he had only dated a woman as a means to an end. That end being them together, tangled in sheets, if they were lucky enough to have a bed, or rolling around on top of a hastily spread blanket, hot and desperate for each other no matter what the weather was.

Sometimes he would be with the same girl or woman several times depending on the length of their stay. Then the circus would pull up stakes and he would be gone, never looking back. And sometimes it was just a one night thing. It all depended on the girl or woman. The faces blurred in his memory until he couldn't tell one from the other.

An epiphany came one night while he was on the run from SHIELD. The woman he had just been with had tried to stick a knife between his ribs because he had forgotten her name. He called her the Gypsy Princess. To this day, he still couldn't recall her name. It hadn't bothered him not to know the names of the women he slept with until that night. That's when he realized that he could no longer continue to live his life as if he was the only one who mattered. As if he and he alone needed the physical relief that being intimate with another person brought.

He'd finally come to the realization that being intimate didn't always mean having sex. It meant forming an emotional connection with someone. Physical intimacy was just a side effect, an expression of that connection. And because he had no experience in making such a connection to others, he avoided any contact aside from the platonic. A self-imposed celibacy.

Until today.

There was just something about Naomi that made him want to be close to her. Not close as in sex, though that thought had crossed his mind as well. He wanted to know things about her that went beyond the everyday. Where did she grow up? What's her favorite color? Favorite food? Her best friend's name? Her last name?

For a man who had barely known the first names of the women he'd slept with, this was an immense breakthrough and he was determined to make the most of it. He would get to know the Naomi that she showed to the world then slowly tempt to the surface the Naomi she kept hidden…then maybe they'd get to the sex.

Clint also knew that in doing so, he would be required to respond in kind. And that thought scared the daylights out of him. The last time he remembered being too scared to move had been when Barney had fallen while learning a new tightrope routine. He had bounced from the net to land on the hard packed earth of the tent floor. His older brother had been badly bruised and cut, which were attended by the bearded lady. She had studied to be a nurse at one time, but found working in the circus a more rewarding career. He didn't get that, but hadn't questioned it at the time.

Crossing the park at a jog, Clint again felt as if he were being watched. Stopping to tie his shoes, he made a quick check of the area, but didn't see Alston, any of his cohorts or anyone else who seemed to be taking an unusual interest in his activities. Though the feeling persisted, he returned home and showered.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and went into the bedroom to finish his philosophy homework, the annoyance with himself coming back. It had been his plan, and Coulson's "suggestion", that he take a major in criminal justice with a minor in psychology. However, the course numbers between Psychology-101 and Philosophy-101 were very close, only one digit off, and he'd been in a hurry. So here he sat, a man who believed in what he could see, hear, touch, taste and smell being forced to consider such things as metaphysics and epistemology.

The phone rang, but he ignored it letting the answering machine do its job. Since only a few people had his home number, he wouldn't worry about calling them back.

Hours later, he put the finishing touches on his paper, gave it one more perusal to catch any mistakes that the spellcheck might've missed and printed it out. He shut down the computer and closed his books before going to the closet to get clean clothes for his date with Naomi, throwing pants and shirt on the bed then going to the dresser for T-shirt, socks and boxers.

He tossed the towel into the tub then sat on the side of the bed to get dressed. Before leaving, he took the paperback from the trash, put it on the desk then returned to take out Marlie's phone number, debating if he should give her a call after all. Tossing the paper on the desk, he shrugged into his jacket, grabbed his scarf, cap and gloves, and left the apartment.

~~O~~

Naomi got to her feet when she saw Clint's truck pull up in front of her building. Unexpectedly, he got out, came around to open the passenger door and bowed. "Your chariot, m'lady."

Stopping the schoolgirl giggle that threatened to ruin the evening, she smiled. "Thank you, kind sir."

The theater wasn't far so it was a short trip with little time for small talk. They purchased a small box of popcorn to share and a drink for Clint. Not many people came out to the movies during the week so they had their choice of seats.

Most of the way through the action adventure flick, sitting beside Clint in the darkened theater, Naomi wondered what was going on inside his head. Clint kept things close to the vest, not giving much away except to those he felt closest to. And though she couldn't count herself as one of the honored few, it made him even more attractive to her. Mysterious.

Some men wanted you to know everything about them immediately and it was obvious they were thinking that familiarity would get them what they really wanted: a night in her bed. Well, they were sadly mistaken if they thought she couldn't see through their subterfuge and sent them on their way at the end of the night. Which usually ended sooner earlier rather than later once they discovered it was a losing battle.

Clint didn't have classically handsome features, though looks didn't matter to her. But when she gazed into his eyes, there was just something that drew her in. She sensed he needed a friend _more_ than he needed a lover, though sometimes they're one and the same at different stages in your life. And she was happy to provide a shoulder to lean on, if he wanted it. He had to be wanting _something_ from her if he continued to meet her in the park and the food court. Maybe the reason he asked her on a date was his way of saying he wanted more. Or it could be that he just wanted company, that he was tired of spending his nights alone at home doing whatever it was he did there each night aside from homework.

Naomi turned her head just enough to see his profile, watching the images from the screen flicker over his face. His hair was light enough that she had not noticed that he had begun to grow a goatee. She didn't care much for facial hair, but it seemed right for him. At least for now. When they got to know each other better that might change. Probably would change. But for now, it looked good on him.

He must not have noticed that she was watching him because a look of sadness came over his face then was gone. Something in the movie had brought up an old memory. Naomi had been looking at him, not the screen, so she had no idea what it might've been, though if she had to guess, it was something from so long ago that he may not even remember why it disturbed him.

She had a sudden impulse to comfort him, even reached out to take his hand in hers, changing her mind and grabbing a handful of popcorn instead. The movement caught his attention and he turned to smile at her, silently asking if she wanted to share his drink. Taking the cup, she used the soda to wash away the saltiness of the popcorn then stuck the cup in the holder between them.

Nervous about her first date in months, Naomi hadn't eaten anything since the hot dog at the park and was almost starving. Her stomach grumbled, covered by the music and talking from the movie. Just in time, it ended. She picked up her purse and reached for her jacket, but he was already waiting to help her into it. Such old world manners were few and far between these days. She almost laughed when a teenage boy near them belatedly imitated Clint. The boy's date gave him a surprised and sweet smile before wrapping her hand around his arm as they exited the theater.

Clint extended his elbow, she curled her long slender fingers around it and together they walked down the hall to the exit. At the car, he opened her door and gave her a hand into the truck then got in and started the engine. "You said something about burgers."

"Voted the best in town by _New York Today_. Turn left at the light then right on Mulberry."

Once seated in Charlie's House of Burgers, she ordered a red, white and bleu cheese burger and he ordered a bacon and cheddar cheese burger. They shared an order of curly fries and a carafe of decaf to combat the chill of the night.

"How are your classes going?" It was the first thing that popped into her head to start the conversation. She cringed internally though Clint didn't seem to mind. "Sorry. That was a lame opening for small talk."

He leaned back in his chair, resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, and shrugged. "Not really. And they're going as well as can be expected."

"Oh? Want to share?"

Again he shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or the other, though she did get a sense that he was secretly pleased she was taking an interest. "I'm going for a degree in criminal justice so taking psychology classes are mandatory, but I'm also getting a minor in psych. However, I've somehow managed to enroll myself in philosophy instead."

Pressing her lips together to keep from laughing, she added half a packet of sweetener to her coffee and stirred until she had gotten herself under control. "I see. Will it set you back credit wise?"

"No. It is just so… I'm not really that kind of guy. To start with, the professor is a throwback to the sixties. Long hair, beard, always preaching about recycling, the depletion of the ozone layer and veganism. It's weird." His eyes changed color when the bell over the door rang. Rather than being a Pavlovian response, she sensed that his mood had changed and he was now angry. Fighting the urge to look around, she smiled and nodded when he said, "I'm gonna wash my hands."

~~O~~

The bell over the door rang, calling Clint's attention the people coming in. Not that he knew them, but turning his head brought his eyes past the window where he saw a very familiar car parked in the street.

He made his way to the back of the restaurant, but instead of going into the men's room, he went through the kitchen, out the back door and around to the side. Peeking around the corner, he saw that Alston had followed them yet again. He didn't know what his deal was, but tonight it would stop.

A quick dash down the sidewalk to where the car was parked in front and Clint pounded on the window. It was lowered reluctantly, Alston looking back with defiance and just a little guilt.

"Why the _hell_ are you following us?"

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 6**

"I'm not…" the young man started to refute Clint's assertion stopping when Clint grabbed him by the collar.

"Who are you following, Naomi or me, and why?"

Alston jerked free. "I'm not following _anyone_. Just came to get a burger. Or isn't that allowed in your paranoid world, Coulson?"

"Was it just a coincidence when I saw you watching my apartment the other night and again at the park?" Clint could feel the anger boiling just under the surface. It had been a long time since he had allowed his volatile temper to have free reign and though he wanted to unleash it, he didn't.

"You are friggin' _nuts_, man! I was at home every night this week." He opened the door, stopped by Clint's body in the way. "I'd like to get something to eat, if it's okay with you."

Clint turned around, grabbed the to-go bag from a man just coming out and shoved it at Alston. "Here! Now _leave_. And stop whatever it is you're doing before you regret it."

Alston snatched the bag from Clint, tossing in the seat next to him. "Is that a _threat?_"

"No. Just a friendly reminder that you are _messing_ with the wrong man."

"Funny, but that sounds like a threat to me." Alston started the car and peeled away from the curb.

Going to the man whose food he had taken, Clint apologized and gave the man a twenty to cover it before returning the way he'd come. He stopped to wash his hands, and returned to Naomi, sliding easily into his seat just as their food arrived.

"Perfect timing. What took so long?"

Clint unfolded a napkin and draped it over his lap. "There was a line." He could tell she knew it was a lie, but thankfully didn't pursue it.

"So you were telling me about your classes."

"I'd rather hear about your research." When her eyes lit up at the prospect of talking about a subject near and dear to her heart, he knew he had made the right choice in switching the focus of the conversation over to her. "Why wannabe heroes?"

They stayed in the restaurant talking until nearly closing time then he drove her back to her place. Getting out, he took her hand to help her from the truck, immediately releasing her and shoving his hands into his pockets. At the door, she looked up at him, the soft light of the moon shining on her face as she lowered her long lashes for a moment then looked him in the eyes again. He knew she wanted him to kiss her, but wasn't certain that he was ready for the intensity of feeling it would bring.

He almost jumped when she tiptoed and brushed a soft kiss over his cheek, murmuring softly, "Thanks. I had a good time tonight."

"Me too." And with those two words, he decided to take a chance on getting close to someone outside of Natasha and Coulson. Backing away, he returned her smile as he waited for her to go inside. Once the door had clicked shut, he made certain it was locked before performing a hasty perimeter check just to ease his mind that Alston wasn't lurking in the shadows then headed for home.

An hour after he was gone, a car slowly made its way down the street with its lights out. It pulled to a stop and just sat there watching a specific window. The lights finally went out and the driver started the engine then waited until he was two blocks away to turn on the lights.

~~O~~

Morning came and with it the threat of storms. The clouds bulged with unshed snow creating the illusion that they hid unseen dangers. Temperatures had already begun to drop by the time Naomi and her neighbor stepped out of their apartments.

"Mornin'!"

"Hey Serene. Where are _you_ headed so early?"

Serene hitched a dark green bag over her shoulder as she locked her door. "The gym. Gotta fit into that fancy dress for Donny's Christmas party in a few weeks."

Indicating her own bag, Naomi said, "I was just headed there myself. Let's take my car." When they reached the first landing, Naomi declared, "I…met a guy."

Immediate, Serene's attention was captured. "You met a _guy?_ Tell me about him. I want to know everything!" She waited until Naomi caught up with her. "So talk. Who _is_ this guy? Where did you meet him? What's he like?"

"We met at the college. He was lost and I gave him directions."

The eagerness and delight in Serene's expression made Naomi want to shake her head and grin. Serene was happily hooked up and wanted her friend to be as well, to feel that same rush that came with being in love. Serene had set her up with guys several occasions, but it had never worked out. Mostly because Naomi had been working on her Masters with little time to be sociable.

"Wow! Love at first sight!" Greatly overplaying a dreamy expression, Serene sighed. "It's sooo romantic."

Naomi rolled her eyes as they reached the first floor. "It's nothing _like_ that. We ran into each other a few times in the food court then again at the park. And we're running buddies."

"You're not _dating?_"

"If you must know, we went on a date last night. And before you ask he didn't kiss me good night."

"He didn't? Is he an _idiot?_"

Naomi and Serene dropped their bags in the back seat and Naomi pulled into traffic a few moments later. "No and no. He's a gentleman. It's very refreshing to have a guy open doors for you instead of letting them close in your face, and help you on with your coat."

They arrived at the gym, stashed their bags in lockers and started their workout with stretching. Thankfully, Serene dropped the subject of Clint for the time being. Naomi knew Serene would probably bring it up later and maybe by then she would have the answers her friend was looking for.

~~O~~

Rolling out of bed, Clint shivered in the coldness of the room. Getting home after midnight, he'd been so tired that he hadn't turned the heat on before going to bed and sleeping like a rock until morning. The cold front that had been forecast had come through before morning. Setting the thermostat, he padded into the kitchen and started the coffee, deciding to stay in to finish his homework and go for a run this afternoon, time permitting.

While the coffee brewed, he went into the bedroom and booted up the computer. His eyes found the scrap of paper with Marlie's phone number and he stared at it trying to decide if he was going to call her after all. She would probably ask him to dinner so she and her husband could thank him again for saving their baby. He'd be embarrassed at their gratitude and hated feeling that way. It reminded him of the mocking laughter from Henri when he would fall while learning a new tumbling routine. He sighed, unable to make a decision.

It was still early, so he made breakfast and carried it into the bedroom. Opening a new Word document, he got started on his paper for history class. Hours later, he was startled out of the Crusades when the phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he saw that it was Coulson again. The phone call usually meant he was standing at the front door and to let Clint know so he would not accidentally kill him. Good idea. But then Coulson was an intelligent man though Clint would never say so to his face. It was a guy thing.

Without bothering to answer the phone, Clint went to the door, stuck his eye to the peephole then let his visitor in. As he stepped inside, Coulson took off his coat, hat and scarf, tossing them over the back of the armchair.

"Why are you still here? Didn't say enough yesterday?"

"You know as well as I do that I go where Uncle Nick tells me to go."

Clint handed him a cup of coffee. "So you are a glorified gopher?"

Instead of being insulted as Clint had intended, Coulson chuckled. "Pretty much." He shrugged offhandedly taking it as a compliment. "It's a living."

Sitting on the sofa, Clint crossed one leg over the other. "You still haven't said why you're here."

"I need you to do a job. It won't take long, less than a day." Clint gave nothing away of what he was feeling now that he was getting his first mission. "And you won't miss any classes."

"Wasn't worried."

Coulson smiled wryly. "It's a personal request, not authorized by the others. Just between you and me. Don't have a problem with that, do you?"

Clint's response was immediate. "No. What's the mission?"

"I need you to steal something for me. Or rather, steal it back."

~~O~~

Entering the gym, he checked in at the desk before going to the men's locker room. Coming out, he found Naomi and her friend on adjoining stationary bikes, pedaling and talking animatedly. He flipped the towel over his shoulder and got on the treadmill closest to them so he could listen in their conversation, sticking earbuds in so they would feel free to talk.

Ten minutes into his run, he was frustrated. They women talked about their plans for the holidays, work, shopping and where to go for lunch. Naomi didn't mention even once the guy he had seen her with the night before. Satisfied that they weren't an item, he went to the weight area, chose a twelve pound weight and started his bicep curls.

When he saw the women head for the locker room, he put the weights up then went to shower and change.

~~O~~

"What's that?" Serene pointed to the floor beside Naomi's door. A single white rose lay on its side, a small card pushed into the green florist paper.

Naomi picked it up and carefully removed the card. It was blank except for the embossing on the front. "It is probably from Clint. But how did he get inside so he could leave it? And where did he get a white rose this late in the season?"

"He could've come in when Mrs. Englebaum went to walk Caesar after lunch or charmed his way in."

The older lady lived on the first floor and took her Pomeranian for his daily walks on a strict schedule. It was probably just a coincidence that Clint arrived just as they were coming out. "Maybe."

"And just an FYI: Someone who's just a running buddy doesn't send you flowers after a jog in the park. They are a symbol of purity and innocence."

"Not to mention that Clint isn't the type to send flowers on so short of an acquaintance, if at all."

Serene's huff showed her displeasure. "You sure he's for real?"

"Yes. And we barely know each other. I only just found out his last name."

Serene was taken aback by that. She regularly received flowers from her boyfriend, Donny and thought all women should be treated as such. "Really?"

"As I said, we go to the same college and run in the park. We've never been alone together. It's always been in a public venue."

Opening the door to her apartment, Serene tossed her gym bag on the sofa. "Well you need to change that ASAP. Invite him to dinner. Candlelight, soft music, a slinky dress and he will be yours for the taking."

Naomi made a sound of congenial frustration with her friend. "I don't want him to be a conquest. We have to get to know each other better before anything like that happens. If ever. And he may not feel the same. Did that ever cross your mind?"

"Nope. Gay or straight, all men want to be plundered like pirate treasure."

"Serene!"

Unrepentant, the other woman grinned. "Why do you think it is called a 'booty' call?"

Laughing and shaking her head, Naomi, opened her door and went inside. Carrying her gym bag to the bedroom, she tossed her sweaty clothes into the laundry basket then booted up the computer and put the kettle on to boil for tea. While she waited, she took a quick shower.

~~O~~

"_What_ is going on, Coulson?"

Phil dropped his eyes to his lap, rubbing his hands together as if it would rid him of the embarrassment. "It's something I'm not exactly proud of. Not to mention, if it gets out, I could lose my job. I would be unemployable in any law enforcement agency, local, federal _or_ international, and I do _not_ want that to happen."

"Why should _I _care if you lose your job?"

"Because the council would call into question every operation that I had anything to do with since that day. Even the smallest detail would be examined under a microscope to see if I'd compromised the investigation. That would be especially true for the ones that had gone sideways. They would also look into any decisions I've made including the lives of any agents that I've recruited."

Barton nodded his understanding. He didn't want to air his one big mistake to anyone, least of all to Barton who would probably laugh in his face.

But Barton didn't laugh and that made it a little easier. "Look, if you're sending me on a mission while I'm in college and have midterms coming up, I need to know what I'm doing and why." Phil hesitated. "From the top."

"What if I just give you a rundown of the events leading up to the situation in question?"

"Fine. I'm listening." Getting to his feet, Barton took his and Phil's cups to the kitchen for refills.

"I was working for the ATF prior to being recruited into SHIELD. One of my last assignments was an operation out of Miami, Florida. My job was to get close to a man who was suspected of trafficking in automatic weapons by romancing his sister.

"One night, we were having dinner, and though I did not have that much to drink, I found myself feeling lightheaded. I got up to go to the men's room to splash cold water on my face. My natural inclination was to call a cab, go home and sleep it off, but I didn't."

Barton laughed out loud. "Sounds like something I'd do." He sobered at Phil's non response. "What happened?"

"I advised my handler that I'd been compromised and that Candy was involved up to her pretty little ears. She wasn't indicted because we couldn't prove it and my say-so wasn't good enough." Sighing, Phil continued with his story. "I awoke the next day with a hangover and in a bed that wasn't my own. I got dressed and called a cab to take me back to the restaurant where I hoped I'd left my car. It was still in the parking lot and in the front seat I found copies of photos that had been taken of Candy and I in very compromising positions."

"What red-blooded guy hasn't been in that position a time or two?"

"If it had only been she and I in the photos, I wouldn't now be requesting your assistance."

His eyes widening in shock, Barton held his hand up to halt the flow of words. "Stop right there. I would rather _not_ hear something that would scar me for life."

"As I said, if these photos were to reach the council…"

"I get it. Where does Candy…"

"Caine. And no, I am not kidding. Her full name is Candace Olivia Caine. In high school, she was known as Co-Caine because her father was doing a stretch in Rikers for possession with intent to sell."

"Where does she live, how do I get there and where would she keep the photos?"

Relief flooded through Phil as he produced an envelope from his breast pocket and tossed it on the table. Barton opened it, thumbing through the contents. "Your transportation will be leaving in thirty minutes from the private airfield on Pasdar Road. A guy owes me a favor. He'll fly you down, wait and fly you back."

"Got it." Barton retrieved his shoes from the bedroom and put them on, shoved his arms into his jacket as he followed Phil out into the hall and down to the car. Phil dropped Barton at the hangar and drove away without looking back.

~~O~~

Clamping the flashlight in his teeth, Clint carefully probed the lock until it clicked. Pushing open the door, a high pitched squeal told him he had thirty seconds to shut off the alarm before it alerted the security company that an intruder was in the home. How Coulson _got_ the code, he didn't know or care.

When Coulson told him what had happened, Clint had been staggered because he had never thought of the straight-laced agent as the kind of man who would engage in one-night stands with women he barely knew even to complete a mission. But Coulson had been undercover with the ATF and had succumbed to the wiles of a seductive player in the dangerous game of weapons trafficking. And Clint _really_ didn't think it would ever be up to _him_ to save the guy's ass. _This is _not_ what I was expecting when I took this job._

Using the handheld metal detector, Clint located the wall safe in the den. He connected a small device to the keypad, turned it on and it took less than a minute for the lock to open. Inside, he found approximately thirty similar envelopes. He took them out and shuffled through until he found one with the alias Coulson had used during the op where the photos had been taken and shoved it into his back pocket. Shuffling some more, he found a few other familiar names. Pocketing them as well, he put everything else back the way he'd found it, checked that he hadn't left anything behind then made his way to the computer on the desk.

Booting it up, he connected to the Internet, typed a few commands and hit Enter. This sent a virus out through the Internet that would hunt down and destroy any of the compromising photos that had been stored offsite. Then, with just those few more keystrokes, he activated a complete wipe of the hard drive. It would perform this function another six times before destroying the operating system making it impossible for anyone to access any information that may have survived the onslaught.

The job done, he went to the keypad near the back door where he reset the alarm before leaving the way he had come in. Just outside, Clint froze in his tracks when a car came down the alley and pulled into the rear drive.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful _ladygris__._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 7**

Clint dove into the bushes in Candy Caine's back yard just as a car door slammed and footsteps sounded on the stone path to the door. Barely breathing, he waited until the dark-haired woman had put her groceries in the refrigerator and turned out the light to move from his place of concealment.

breathing a sigh of relief and hoping she would stay out of the den, he jogged to the end of the alley where he had stashed the bike borrowed from the pilot, zipped up his jacket, and returned to the private airfield for the trip back to New York. Once in the air, he took out his SHIELD phone and sent a message to Coulson to meet him at the airport where he turned over the envelopes taken from the safe.

Coulson got him home sometime after midnight. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his wallet on the dresser, set the alarm and fell into bed hoping he would get enough sleep to be able to participate in class in the morning.

~~O~~

Entering the classroom, Alston saw Clint slumped in his seat, arms cross and eyes closed. A malicious grin came over his features as he pulled a thick textbook from his backpack. He lifted it high over his head and slammed it on the desk hoping to scare Clint. A moment later, he found himself on his back between the rows of desks, Clint astride him, his right hand clamped around his throat and left fist raised to strike.

"What the hell! Coulson, let him go!" shouted Brewster as he, Cutler and another student grabbed Clint and pulled him off of their friend. When he gave no resistance, they released him while Dobbins helped Alston to his feet.

Before they could sort themselves out, Crosse came into the room taking in the aggressive stances and the shocked faces of the other students who had been watching the scene with appalled fascination. "What's going on here?"

Clint kept a glare focused on Alston for a moment then looked at Crosse. "Nothing, ma'am."

Dobbins patted Alston on the chest and turned a grin on their professor. "Alston asked Jet Li here to give him a quick self-defense lesson." He shrugged self-deprecatingly, as if it were his fault.

"Next time, do it outside and _not_ in the classroom."

The group chorused, "Yes, ma'am," and went back to their seats, Alston glaring at Clint who returned the expression with a scowl as he took notes from his backpack.

~~O~~

Crosse talked as she wrote on the blackboard. "What is one of the most important factors when writing anything for public consumption? Short stories, brochures, novels." She faced the class. "Yes, Mr. Coulson."

"Know your audience."

"Correct." Crosse crossed her arms and paced to the other side of the room. "Can you elaborate?"

"It gives you an advantage to know what the audience, I mean _readers_ want-or need-before _they_ know."

"Care to demonstrate?"

"Uh…" Clint's classmates urged him on so he got to his feet, hands behind his back. "Ms. Crosse, you grew up in Yonkers. Your father worked as a day laborer and your mother ran a day care out of your home meaning that you didn't have many luxuries as a child. Though many would feel deprived, it taught you to the value of working hard for something you really wanted.

"You went to college on a scholarship and graduated with honors. You're divorced and live with a cat and a dog. The cat is a calico and the dog is a yellow lab. You've had both for some time and allow them to sleep with you at night. You have two children, a boy and a girl, both married with one child each on whom you dote. You drive a five-year old four door sedan that is paid off and maintained with an almost compulsive regularity." When he finished, the class looked to Crosse for confirmation. He expected her to be embarrassed by what he had revealed, and was pleasantly surprised to see approval in her eyes.

"Very good, Mr. Coulson. And all true." She waited out the applause of the class. "Such a talent is not easy to learn."

Clint considered the unasked question and without meaning to, found himself revealing his past. "Working with the circus, you just naturally pick these things up."

Brewster sputtered a laugh. "_You_ a carnie, Coulson? Stop yankin' our chains!"

He didn't believe Clint and that irritated the archer. He had finally given up a piece of his past and had been met with ridicule. Before he could respond in kind and start another fight, one of the girls called out, "Do it again!"

The rest of the class echoed her and he had to admit that he'd missed performing in front of an audience, though he preferred the bow and arrow and the occasional walk on the high wire or trapeze to speaking in front of a group. Several of his classmates waved their hands, wanting to be the next subject. He had chosen a brunette who sat by the window when Alston interrupted before he could start.

"Do me." The smirk on Alston's face told the story to everyone around him. This was a challenge that Alston didn't think Clint was up to and wouldn't accept. He was sadly mistaken.

Turning to the side, Clint whispered, "You really wanna do this?"

Alston's smirk turned to a full on grin. "Hit me with your best shot, Coulson."

Clint shrugged. "You were born in upstate New York close to the Canadian border. Though you tell everyone you are twenty, you are really twenty-two. This is because you were kept back a year in high school due to poor grades. But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise because you worked even harder the next three years so that you eventually graduated near the top of your class.

"Your family was quite wealthy at one time, but that ended just before you started high school and is probably the reason you performed poorly that year. Once you realized that you'd have to make your own way, you tried out for the football team where you found your calling, so to speak, and are here on a football scholarship though you let your friends think otherwise. You play quarterback because you like being the center of attention." He paused to let everything sink in then asked Crosse, "Should I go on?"

"I believe that's more than sufficient, Mr. Coulson. Does anyone have any questions?"

She walked over to stand by the windows and Clint saw from her expression that she had done it to draw the attention of the other students to give Alston time to recover his dignity, what little he had left. Clint appreciated her discretion though he doubted that Alston did.

In a harsh whisper, Alston said, "This is _not_ over, Coulson."

"Didn't think it was. Just remember what I said the other night."

All through the remainder of class, the other students kept glancing over their shoulders at Clint and Alston. Clint just stared back while Alston scowled. When they were dismissed, Alston shot out of the room before anyone else. Brewster, Cutler and Dobbins shrugged apologies at Clint on behalf of their friend and chased after him. Clint knew they didn't care what Alston's home or financial situation was. He was their friend and nothing would change that. They just had to convince Alston. _Not gonna be easy._

~~O~~

Choosing to try to blend in with the crowd, Phil had worn casual clothing and a dark blue pea coat instead of his usual suit and tan long coat. Entering the food court, he ordered a coffee and cup of soup. While he waited for his order, a young woman came up beside him. She was African-American, very pretty with flawless skin and wide expressive brown eyes. Her hair just touched her shoulders, dark brown with some highlights in a lighter brown. He approximated her height without the boots at five-seven. He also recognized her as the woman he had seen jogging with Barton in the park the day before.

"Hi. I think we have a mutual acquaintance. Clint Coulson."

"Yes. Hello. How are you?" They shook hands.

"I am fine, thanks." She would have said more, but they were joined by Clint.

"Didn't know you two knew each other."

"We don't," Phil said with a pointed look.

Belatedly, Barton made introductions. "Naomi DeLuca, this is my cousin Phil. Phil, Naomi."

"Your cousin?" Naomi looked from one to the other with skepticism. "Really?"

Phil smiled. "Several times removed."

"How many times?"

When Phil opened his mouth to answer, Barton turned his head to the side, muttering under his breath, "Not nearly enough." He said it just loud enough for Naomi to hear making her smile.

Phil took his soup from the cashier, served in a Styrofoam cup with a lid, pointing with his chin to tell Barton they needed to talk. Barton excused himself, the two men poured coffee and took a table in the corner away from the rest of the patrons where Phil wasted no time on small talk. "I went through the photos. There was a CD included. It was all there and everything has been destroyed so there should be no reason to speak of this in the future."

"Good. It was already too much information."

Phil didn't disagree and would've taken his leave, but he sensed that his friend had more he wanted to say. "It's Alston again."

Barton shrugged and sipped his coffee, not meeting Phil's eyes. "This guy…he's out to prove something. I'm just not sure what."

"So prove it."

Barton shot him a look of surprise. "You _want_ me to do something stupid?"

"Not stupid. Though I do think it's time to put him in his place."

"Did that. He's _not_ gonna let it go." Barton looked at the tabletop. "Besides, what was it you told me about fitting in? Not drawing attention to myself so everyone will think I'm just another college student?"

"So do something circus-y. Show off a little."

Barton snorted. "Circus-y? Is that even a _word?_"

"Something _non-lethal_. I'm getting tired of listening to you gripe."

Holding up his hands in defeat, Barton said, "Fine. But don't blame me if Uncle Nick and the others get wind of it. I'll just have to tell them I was acting on orders." The door opened bringing with it a chill wind as well as the aforementioned Alston and his friends. Brewster spotted Barton and alerted the others. "You might want to stay a while. Someone is about to get his _ass_ kicked."

Grinning, Phil rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He'd seen Barton in action before and this promised to be a grand comeuppance for the other guy. "I love a good floor show. Just the thing to get the blood pumping on a cold afternoon."

~~O~~

Clint drank down the last of his coffee as Alston came up to the table, fists clenched at his side, rage in every line. "What the _hell_ was that, Coulson? Did you think you were being _funny?_"

"You asked. I told. And it _was_ your idea. You can hardly blame me for telling the truth."

Alston's right hand came up as if he were going to take a swing at Clint, but he didn't. "That's _not_ the point."

"The point is you have some _bug_ up your ass about me and I'm _tired_ of it." Getting to his feet, Clint tossed his cup in the trash and gestured for Alston to follow him outside. Coulson, Dobbins, Cutler, Brewster and a few others followed staying back out of the way and waiting to see what would happen. One or two at a time, a crowd gathered hoping to see something to break up the monotony of the day.

Naomi pushed her way to Coulson's side and Clint handed her his backpack. Alston tossed his under a tree and turned to face Clint, hands flexing as if preparing for a fight.

"What'll it be, Alston? If you wanna fight, just remember what happened in class."

A sly grin came over the younger man's face. "Another reason I'm the quarterback is because I'm the fastest runner on the team. I can do a mile in under five."

Clint didn't bother to point out that _he_ could run that same distance in just under four. "So a race? Where to?"

Drawing Clint to the left, Alston pointed out a building at the far end of the rotunda. It was easily two hundred fifty yards away. "That building. First one to the roof wins. And just so it's fair," Alston gestured to one of the girls hanging on the periphery. He handed her his scarf then removed his jacket leaving his knit cap in place.

Clint hadn't done any freerunning in a while, but it was something you never forgot. He'd already removed his jacket. Handing it to Coulson, he caught Naomi giving him a look that begged him to be careful. He nodded and smiled confidently then moved over to stand next to his opponent. "I have a class in thirty minutes so let's do this."

Both men signaled that they were ready and the girl raised the scarf in the air. "Ready! Set! Go!"

For the first thirty yards, Clint purposely stayed even with Alston, even dropped back a little to make him overconfident, then suddenly, he veered to the right cutting through the grass. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alston falter at the unexpected move then continue on.

Coulson had told him to show off, so he did. He purposely headed for a group of four sitting in a semi-circle, books open in front of them. Picking up speed, he dived over them into a somersault, rolling to his feet to continue running.

A bench was his next obstacle. He used the seat and back as if they were steps, launching himself into the air high enough to do a flip, again landing on his feet at the edge of the sidewalk. He jumped the railing, performed a set of three handsprings then jumped the other railing without touching it.

In front of him were two three story buildings with a sky bridge between them. Instead of going around or between, he picked up speed and leapt up to grab the railing that ran along the metal stairs, pulled himself up to balance on the rail then ran up the railing to the next landing. Jumping to the other side, he leaped to the railing above, pulling himself up and over. One more leap and he was on the third floor near the bridge entrance.

Without a pause, Clint ran to the other set of stairs and again jumped up on the rail, only this time he turned sideways and slid down the next landing where he planted both hands on the rail and leapt over to hang by his hands. Pushing off the side, he flipped over to land on the ground, rolling to disperse the energy of his fall.

On his feet again, he ducked his head and ran flat out until he came to a tall tree. Gauging the distance, he jumped up to catch the lowest limb. He swung back and forth to get momentum, flipping over and up to land crouched on the branch.

Climbing higher, he came even with a window that looked like it had not been washed in decades. Holding onto the window sill, he dangled a moment then swung his hips to the left to catch the drainpipe with both feet. His hands came next, holding onto the pipe. Hand over hand, he climbed up to the roof. Grasping the stone parapet, he pushed off with both feet, swinging his legs to the left, up and over to land on the black tar roof.

And there he was standing, hands on his knees and panting when Alston burst onto the roof, the door banging against the wall and slamming closed. The two men looked at each other, but neither had the breath to spare for talking just yet.

It took a while for Alston's breathing to slow enough to be able to speak. "I think I just got served."

Clint stared at Alston wishing he had a bottle of water, or better yet, an ice cold beer. "I could've let you win and made this all go away."

"Why didn't you?"

"It would have been unethical." Clint sat down with his back against the wall. After a moment, Alston joined him. "Tell me what this is about. What did I ever do to make you hate my ass?"

"I don't _hate_ your ass." Alston yanked off his cap and pushed a hand through his blond hair, exhaling loudly. "It is just…the girls talk about you all the time, but won't give me or my friends a second look. I was following you to see if I could find out what it is you are doing that we're not."

Clint shook his head and grinned. "I'm just being myself. It's your _attitude_. No matter what they say, all women want to be treated like a lady, with courtesy and respect. Not as if your only purpose is to get them into bed. They pick up on that and it puts them off."

"Really? That's it? _That's_ your secret?"

"I got news for you. It's _not_ a secret, Alston. Everyone wants to be treated with common courtesy. It's a little old fashioned, I know, but it's the little things that people notice. And not just women. We have a saying in the circus. 'You are either a carnie or a mark.' I was twenty-two before I learned otherwise." Turning his head to the side, Clint watched Alston thinking over everything he had been told.

"So how old are you now?"

Clint shrugged. "Older, but not much wiser. I'm getting there though. Now, we can be friends _or_ we can be enemies. _You_ decide." Now that they were no longer moving, the cold wind pushed at them making them shiver.

Checking the time, Alston got to his feet and extended a hand to help Clint stand. When they were face to face, Alston said, "Friends."

"Good choice."

He followed Alston to the door, but it was locked. "We are locked in!"

"Crap!" Clint watched his new friend walk to the parapet and leaned over.

"Hey! Can someone…"

Clint laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him an enigmatic smile. "I got this." Clint located the window he had seen on the way up, jumped up onto the parapet and climbed down the drainpipe. He leaned to the right to grab the upper edge of the window frame, placing his toes on the window sill. He carefully raised the window and climbed inside. A few moments later, the roof door opened and the two men made their way down to the first floor. As they came out onto the front steps, the crowd applauded.

Alston nudged him with an elbow and grinned. The crowd surged forward to congratulate them both. All but Naomi and Coulson. Clint pushed through to their side and waited.

Coulson finally smiled, extending his hand. "Not bad."

"Thanks." When he turned to Naomi, her dark eyes were wide with shock and another emotion he could not identify. "Something wrong?"

"I…you were telling the truth. The trapeze, the tights. A-all of it."

"Well, yeah." Clint's tone indicated humor that she had doubted him. Coulson handed him his jacket. He shrugged into it and took his backpack from where she had set it at her feet. "I gotta get to class. Catch up to you later?" Naomi just nodded and he smiled. "Great. Phil?"

Only Coulson's eyes changed. He nodded once. "Clint."

And the archer ran toward his next class. If he hustled, just a little, he'd be there on time.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** This should have been posted yesterday. Sorry!

2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris.

Gracias and Feliz Navidad!

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 8**

With slack jawed awe, Naomi watched Clint run, jump and roll then she was further astonished when he climbed a tree and up the outside of a three-story building. He'd told her about the trapeze and wearing tights. Now she knew he hadn't been joking. Not only that, she couldn't believe how incredibly sexy it was to see him put that jock in his place.

"I apologize if it ruined any plans the two of you had when he was called out of town yesterday. It was my fault."

_So Clint _didn't_ leave the rose._ "It didn't. I spent the day with a friend." As the group of onlookers dispersed and Clint trotted off to geometry class, she turned to Phil. "You're not really related, are you?"

"No. He needed a family contact for the enrollment application, and since he has no family, I stepped up."

"I'm sure he appreciates everything you've done for him."

Phil turned to face her. "Of course. His life until he joined the company wasn't easy, but I should let him tell it, though it's possible that neither of us will ever know the entire story."

Naomi nodded. "He's been hurt and just needs to learn to trust again." Sighing, she stuck out her hand. "It was good meeting you, Phil. We should do it again sometime."

He gave her a smile filled with mystery as if there were depths to him as well that some would never see. "Perhaps we will. Good-bye, Ms. DeLuca. Enjoy the rest of your day."

"And you, Phil." She watched him walk away wondering-not for the first time-what she was getting herself into by getting involved with someone like Clint. From the first moment she had met him, she had sensed a great sadness and loneliness about him that might never be dispelled, no matter what happened between them.

The small smile fled from her lips when a chill went down her spine, like someone had drawn an icy finger along its ridges. This feeling had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with being secretly watched. Shivering, she pulled her coat tighter and returned to the food court where she'd left her backpack. Lying on top of her research papers was another white rose though this time she knew for certain that Clint hadn't been the one to place it there.

Shoving her papers and books into the back pack, Naomi dismissed the flower as having been left by someone she knew. Though now that she thought about it, Clint wouldn't have any way to know that white roses were her favorites.

She waved to the girls behind the counters and bravely went back out into the cold just as a few flakes of snow began to fall. Pulling on her fleece lined gloves, she headed for the psych building.

~~O~~

Though they had only exchanged a few words, Phil could tell that Naomi liked Clint more than either of them knew or would know for a while. She was open and giving, but knew when to reign in that part of her, holding it in check until the right moment. That was especially true for someone like Barton.

So far Naomi had only seen the surface of man that Barton was. And who knew if she would ever come into contact with Agent Barton or Hawkeye. Hopefully, there would be no need for her to. But then all the planning in the world might not prepare you for that one random factor that you didn't expect.

Being an ATF agent, and now with SHIELD, Phil knew that was true in the worst sense as evidenced by the mission he'd sent Barton on to retrieve those incriminating photos. The plan had been to seduce the sister intel had told them was totally ignorant of her brother's activities. What had happened had not been planned, and had been the one and only time that Phil had purposely left key events out of his official report. A situation that still plagued him.

Many times he had begun to confess all and didn't. Not for his sake, but for the sake of all the people who had and still do depend on him to get the job done with the right agent for that job.

If Phil was taken down for something like this, every decision, every recommendation he'd made since then would be called into question and good agents like Barton and Natasha would lose everything. Because if Phil could not be trusted, then how could people he'd personally recruited be trusted?

Taking the keys from his pocket, Phil unlocked the door and slid into the driver's seat. Within moments, he was back on the road.

~~O~~

A few days later, the college had been closed due to the weather. Not that it had gotten bad, but because the environmentals in several of the buildings had gone out. It would take three days to get the parts to make the repairs so the university's board of directors had voted to close completely and reopen the following Monday.

Clint spent the morning in his apartment, snacking and relaxing. He watched a little television, ran on the treadmill he kept in the corner and just generally did squat. In the middle of day two, he had to get out of the apartment or go nuts. He'd just taken his bow case from the bedroom closet when someone knocked on his door.

Setting the case on the floor next to the sofa, he pulled the Berretta from its hiding place and crept to the door, his stocking feet making no noise on the thick carpeting. When he saw who his visitor was, he shoved the gun in the waistband of his pants and covered it with the flannel shirt he wore over his T-shirt before opening the door. "Naomi. How did you…"

Rubbing her hands together nervously, she shifted from foot to foot. "I, uh, I have a friend who works in the office and she gave me your address. I hope you don't mind." He didn't say anything at first and she must have taken that to mean he wasn't happy to see her. "Sorry. This was a bad idea, invading your privacy this way. I should go."

"Don't. Please come in." He stood back and gestured for her to enter. She unbuttoned her coat, and he took it, tossing it over the back of the armchair that Phil favored. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, hot chocolate or tea?"

"Tea would be nice."

Through the opening between the dining room and the kitchen, Clint watched her turn in a circle, taking everything in. She moved over to a framed reproduction of a landscape, examining it like it was a priceless work of art hanging in a private collection. While her back was turned, he took the Berretta and stashed it in the back of one of the highest cabinets inside an ancient crockpot.

When the water was hot, he carried the tray to the living room, set it on the coffee table and handed her one of the cups. The dishes had come with the apartment and he'd never paid much attention to the color or design until now. Naomi was the type of girl who deserved to have tea served in fine china cups, poured from a sterling silver tea service. "Cookie?"

"Thanks. I'm starving, which is why I'm here. I was going nuts cooped up in my place and found myself missing our runs."

"Me too. But it's been so damn _cold!_" He said it with an exaggerated shiver making her laugh. "I was about to head out."

"Oh! You should've said something. I would've called first, but I don't have your number so I took a chance."

"It's fine. And I could use the company. We'll take a thermos and go out to eat afterwards, if you like." He watched her stir sweetener into the tea, her long fingers graceful even when doing something mundane. The nails were short and unpolished. The only jewelry she wore was a silver watch and a pair of silver and diamond stud earrings, their facets catching the light and sending little reflections of it that shone through her shoulder length hair. The strands looked incredibly soft, owing, no doubt to the fact that she was of mixed heritage. By her last name, he guessed Italian father and African-American mother, but he couldn't be sure and he didn't want to insult her by asking.

"I won't be intruding?"

"Not at all." Going into the bedroom, he came out with his boots and put them on while she went into the bathroom.

Through the door, she yelled, "You are out of bathroom tissue!"

"Under the sink!" A short time later, she came out to the dining room to watch him filling the thermos.

"You juggle too?"

"A little. Why?"

Aiming a thumb over her shoulder, Naomi indicated where she had just been. "I found a bunch of tennis balls under the sink and thought, if you really had been part of a circus…" she shrugged.

That made him smile. "Not everyone in the circus juggles, but I get by. I have another use for them. Trouble is, once I've used them, they're not good for anything else."

She seemed startled by that. "Oh. So where're we going?"

Clint helped Naomi into her coat and put his own on while she busied herself with her gloves, hat and scarf. He grinned. "You'll see. It'll be fun."

~~O~~

Now that they knew each other a little better, Clint was more talkative on the drive than he had been on their date and Naomi found that she liked this side of him as much as the quiet, reserved side. With him, it was a matter of trust, of getting to know you and just how much of himself he could give to another before it was too much or when it wasn't enough.

Instinctively, she knew that he would let her know when or if he decided that she was sincere in her desire to get to know him without having some hidden agenda and she vowed not to let him down. Again instinct as well as her education told her that he had been let down on many occasions beginning early in his life, starting with being orphaned.

She was startled out of her musings when Clint made a right turn down a road that seemed to go nowhere. If she'd been driving, she'd have completely missed it. Signs advertised practice ranges for an assortment of weapons, making her wonder why he thought that watching a bunch of would-be hunters and cops at target practice would be fun for _her_. But then he drove on past the pistol range and parked in front of the archery range.

Clint took a case and a duffle bag from behind the front seat then walked around to help her out, but instead of letting go, he held onto her hand. And though she knew it was impossible, she swore she felt the heat from his larger hand through the material of their gloves. He released her to open the door then followed her in. At the desk, he rented a private indoor range, to her great relief then led the way down a short hallway.

The room was huge. Easily the size of a football field with only five targets set up though there was room for more. Most likely this was where they held classes and tournaments when the weather was bad.

Clint set the case on the table, unlocked it and flipped the top open to reveal a custom made bow and a quiver of arrows. "Wow! Those are amazing."

With a grin, he pulled the bow out and with a flick of his wrist, it opened up. He set it down and opened a second smaller case from which he took an arm guard, chest guard and an archer's glove. Laying them aside, he removed his jacket and flannel shirt leaving him wearing just a T-shirt stretched taut over well-defined chest and upper abs. His biceps and shoulders flexed with his movements making her mouth go dry. When they ran together, he wore baggy clothing and though she knew he was in good shape, she had no idea _how_ good.

"Ever do this before?"

Naomi had been so mesmerized by the play of his muscles that Clint's question startled her. "No. Never."

"How about a demonstration? Then, if you like, I can give you a couple of lessons."

"That would be great. Where should I stand?"

He slipped the finger tab onto his left hand and arm guard onto his right forearm then put on a leather vest-like thing that laced up the front and nodded. "Anywhere behind that line is good."

Moving to his left so she could see his face, Naomi watched in fascination as Clint drew the bow back. He stopped breathing and sudden the arrow seemed to leap from the bow to hit the target dead center. The first arrow was joined in quick succession by three more, all clustered together in the middle.

Dust or the cold, Naomi did not know which, tickled at her nose, and just as Clint drew the bow back, she sneezed. Horrified that she had made him miss, she came toward him, one hand out in appeal. "I'm so sorry! I couldn't stop it!"

Shrugging, Clint put the bow down and reached into the second case, pulling out a small box of tissues. "No problem." He nodded at the target.

The fifth arrow also hit the center. "How did you…"

"The circus isn't a place for quiet meditation. Haven't missed a shot since I was thirteen."

"Oh." Naomi stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans, one hip thrust to the side. "Can you do tricks?"

His half-smile was filled with mischief as he reached into the smaller case and took out a can of tennis balls, which he handed to her. "I'll go down the far end and run toward you. When I'm even with the second target, toss these high into the air one right after the other."

"Um, okay."

~~O~~

Standing beside Naomi, Clint could feel that she was nervous about assisting him with what was to him a simple trick. To put her at ease, he held her hand, giving it a squeeze and a confident smile. Trouble was, now that they were actually touching, he didn't want to let go. He forced himself to release her and jogged to the end of the room. "Ready?"

"Yes."

She moved to the line, one green ball in her right hand and two in the left. Just as he reached the second target, one by one, she threw the balls into the air. He ran past her, did a shoulder roll, coming up on one knee. Three successive _pfffffffft pops_ preceded the balls landing on the range, each impaled by an arrow. He gathered up the balls and carried them over to her.

"Wh-wow! Do another?"

Embarrassed by the awe in her eyes and voice, Clint went back to the table. "I have a few up my sleeve." Over the next thirty minutes, he performed several different stunts for Naomi's amusement, not noticing that people had stopped to watch through the window.

Finally, he called a time out and while he retrieved the arrows, Naomi went to the water cooler. He drank the water down, watching her from the corner of his eye. The awe had given way to admiration, but for what he could do or the discipline it took to learn his craft, he could not tell. A little of both, probably.

She lightly trailed her fingers over the recurve bow from one end to the other, the motion at once respectful and curious, and he found himself wondering what it would feel like for her to do that to him. Mentally shaking his head to dislodge that thought, he opened the thermos and poured them each a cup of tea. "Would you like to try it?"

"Sure."

"First we have to determine your dominant eye."

She smiled. "Finally. Something _I_ know. Right eye."

"Got it. Wait here." Clint went to the office, coming back with another recurve. His was left-handed and left eye dominant. He also brought an arm guard, finger tab and chest guard for her to use. "The correct stance is very important. Feet shoulder width apart. Stand upright, but not stiff. Your back muscles are used to pull the arrow to the anchor point." Naomi was a willing and eager student, making sure each step in the process was correct before going onto the next. "…now draw your arm back, elbow parallel to the floor, until you reach your anchor point and release."

Naomi released the string, but her aim was a little high and she missed the target. The arrow stuck in the padded wall well above their heads. "Whoops."

"I'll get it." Clint ran toward the wall, planted his right foot a meter up from the floor then hit with his strong left foot above chest height. He leaned back as he took a second step, pushing off and flipping himself as high as possible. Stretching out with his left hand, Clint snagged the arrow as he continued the flip, landing on both feet, knees bent to absorb the impact.

"You just continue to amaze me, Clint."

He shrugged offhandedly, uncomfortable with her continued compliments. "It's just a fact of life. The way being gracious is for you."

~~O~~

The thought that Clint found her gracious warmed Naomi more than the tea had. She poked him in the chest with a finger. "Not so bad yourself."

"Let's try it again."

He took her through the steps again and this time she actually hit the target. It was the outer edge, but still better than completely missing. She let him lead her through a few more shots before taking a break, surprising her by bringing out a zippered plastic bag of cookies. They sat on the floor side by side eating the cookies, sipping tea and talking about nothing.

When the time came to start again, he got to his feet, extending both hands. She placed hers in his larger and much warmer hands and he easily lifted her up in front of him. They were so close she could feel the heat from his body across the small space. Somewhere, a door slammed breaking the spell. Clint cleared his throat and stepped back, taking his warmth with him leaving her slightly chilled. She knew it was her imagination, but couldn't help how it felt.

~~O~~

The moment they'd just shared unnerved Clint. He hadn't felt this level of attraction for a woman in some time. He also found that taking the time to get to know her as a person to be even more enjoyable than getting straight down to the business of having sex before you even knew each other's names.

He knew that, at some point, he would have to seduce a woman as a means to completing his mission. One of the things he'd learned during training, aside from the basic table manners he had been lacking, was how to charm and seduce the opposite sex. He'd never put those skills to use before, and now, unconsciously, he began to do so.

This time, when he helped Naomi aim, he took a half step closer, purposely invading her personal space, but not so close that he was pressed up against her. Placing his hands on top of hers, he urged her to draw the bow back then moved his right hand under her elbow to make sure she kept it parallel to the floor. Lowering his head, he put his mouth close to her ear, his voice a husky whisper. "Deep breath in…hold it…exhale…and…release."

As she nocked the next arrow, he let his fingertips linger on her hand, trail up her arm and onto the back of her shoulder just a little longer than necessary. "One more time then we'll take another break."

~~O~~

The two-door compact pulled into the parking lot of the archery range and parked next to Clint's truck. Getting out, he peered through the window and tried the doors. Looking in the bed, he found nothing of interest. Nothing that would turn the attention of the lovely Naomi from the stranger back to himself, where it should be. He would have to step up his game, as they say. All he needed was the right set of circumstances and they would be together as they were meant to be. This man, whoever he was, had turned her head with smooth talk and the air of aloof mystery that clung to him like dog hair.

But something more than where this other man had come from puzzled him. Why would he bring someone as sweet and innocent as Naomi a shooting range? Going back to his car, he grabbed a cap from the back seat, settled it over his head and went inside. The middle-aged man at the desk looked up and smiled.

"Help you?"

"Yes. I've been thinking of taking up archery. Do you provide lessons?"

"We do." He pushed one of the glossy brochures across the desk. "Here's a list of our packages. The more lessons you buy, the cheaper they are."

Smiling amiably, he took the proffered brochure and stuck it in his breast pocket. "I see someone's using the inside range. Mind if I have a look?"

The older man shrugged. "He doesn't much like bein' watched while he is practicin', but you go ahead. I'll take the heat, if you get caught."

He pushed open the door and went to stand at the window that looked out onto the range. This interloper was giving Naomi a lesson, but it was not an ordinary lesson. The way he touched her, rubbing his body against her, his hands lingering in places they shouldn't as he seduced her.

Backing up, he turned and stalked away. How dare he treat someone like Naomi like a piece of common street trash!

~~O~~

His decision made, Trevor Alston's next step was to tell his family. Gathering his courage, he joined his parents and sister for breakfast. Watching them from the doorway, he mentally shook his head. They were the very image of the all-American family. Mom worked as an executive assistant to the senior partner in a fancy law firm, Dad was the a PE teacher and coach at the high school up the street and his sister, Kristin would be graduating high school next spring then joining him at the university.

Sports had always been a big part of his family's life and always would be. His plans had been to play a few years in the NFL then become a sportscaster or a coach. But lately, his thoughts had turned in a different direction. And after thinking long and hard, he made the decision to change his major from human performance and physical education with minors in diet and nutrition. What he didn't know was how his family would take the news.

His dad lowered the newspaper he was reading, folding it to the crossword puzzle. "Mornin', son. What're your plans? Wanna throw around the ol' pigskin for a while?"

"Maybe later, Dad. I, uh, have something to tell all of you."

Kristin stopped with a forkful of egg white and sautéed veggies omelet halfway to her mouth, the fork returning to the plate. "Are you coming out of the closet?"

"_What?_ No!"

His mother's eyebrows drew together in concern. "Then what's wrong, Trevor?"

"Nothing's _wrong_. I just wanted you to know that I'm changing my major."

"Really?" His dad looked at him with shock. "To what?"

"You're _not_ going to believe me." Trevor told him his new major then spent the next few minutes listing all of his reason for the change, chuckling at their expressions. They'd get used to the idea soon enough, but for now, he was enjoying the silence while he ate his egg and bacon sandwich.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris.

Mahalo Nui Loa and Mele Kalikimaka!

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 9**

"Ready to stop?"

Naomi didn't know if Clint asked the question because _he_ was ready to stop or if he had felt her shiver when his warm breath brushed over her ear and assumed she was cold. "A couple more, I think. Then, uh, maybe we can get something to…eat. I'm getting a little hu-hungry." Naomi didn't know what had changed between the time that they sat down and when they picked up the lessons again, but it seemed-no, not just seemed-she was _certain_ that he was purposely flirting with her. Whatever it was, it was working!

"Me too."

Thankfully, he moved far enough away that the tangy scent of his soap no longer tickled her senses and she was better able to concentrate on what she was doing. Wanting to get this last shot in, she pulled back on the bowstring a little too hard catching Clint on the cheek. Her fingers automatically released. The arrow missed the target, jamming into the wall. "Sorry! Are you okay?"

He fingered the area just below his right eye. "It's fine. Don't worry. I've been hurt much worse under less appealing conditions."

"How do you keep from being distracted?"

He retrieved the arrow from the wall, collapsed his bow and packed it all away. "Like hitting the target, it takes practice. You learn to make adjustments."

Clint picked up the rented bow and arrows, carried them out to the desk and returned to help her into her coat. And this time she did _not_ imagine it. His hands stayed on her upper arms long enough that she got the idea that he was thinking long and hard about something. She hoped that something was the same something _she_ was thinking about, and when he gave her upper arms a quick squeeze, she knew. The breath in her lungs slowly escaped when he turned to pack the thermos in the duffle bag along with the tissues then handed over her gloves and scarf.

Naomi glanced up then dropped her eyes again. Clint's gaze was unreadable, as if he were not _ashamed_ of the feelings he was having, but still felt they were wrong for some reason. To show him that she welcomed his gentle and tentative advances, she settled the duffle bag over her shoulder before he could pick it up then took hold of his hand. He didn't jerk away or give the slightest impression that he didn't accept her touch. How could he when he had been the one to start this intense flirting?

"See ya, Mr. C." The cashier waved and because both of Clint's hands were busy, Naomi waved back for him.

At the truck, he unlocked the door, stashed the case and bag behind the seats then helped her in before slamming the door. While she buckled her seatbelt, he got in and buckled up himself, waiting until he had started down the long single lane road before speaking. "Pizza and beer okay?"

"Anything. I'm _starving,_ though I prefer wine."

He made an exaggerated grimace of disgust. "Wine with pizza? Where were you brought up?"

"Why?"

"'Cause everyone knows you drink _beer _with pizza. Wine is for Cioppino or homemade Spinach and Ricotta ravioli."

What Clint said got her attention faster than almost anything. "You've had Cioppino?"

"I have. Not only that, I can make it, though I prefer lasagna or the ravioli."

Chuckling, Naomi admitted, "I do too, actually. My mother makes lasagna that would make you weep it is so good."

"Mother?"

She grinned and looked down at her lap. "My mother is Italian." At his puzzled frown, she explained. "Italian mother, African-American father. They never married and I was given her last name on my birth certificate."

"Is he…" he hesitated and she knew what he wanted to ask.

"He left after I was born. They parted amicably. His business took him away for extended periods and he didn't think it fair to expect Mother to spend most of her life waiting for him to come around. The last time I saw him was on my fifth birthday. He came to the party, gave me a gift and was gone before the cake was served."

"I'm sorry."

She waved off his sympathy, forcing a smile back to her face and voice. "Something else on your mind now that I've bored you to death with my family history?"

"Not bored." Left wrist resting on the top edge of the steering wheel, he shrugged trying to make what he was going to say sound casual though she could tell it was anything but. "I was going to ask if y'd like to come to dinner Saturday night."

"I'd love to, but come to my apartment. You provide the food. _I _will provide the ambiance and the wine."

Clint shifted his left hand to hold the steering wheel then unexpectedly wrapped his fingers around those of her left hand lying in the seat between them. "It would be…" he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, "…my pleasure to cook for you."

~~O~~

Clint sat across from Naomi in the restaurant, the remains of their meal between them along with empty cups of coffee instead of beer. They had been so chilled that the thought of drinking anything cold hadn't appealed.

Their conversation flowed smoothly, more so than any they'd had before and he knew that the change was his. Mostly his, anyway. After he'd made the decision to share more of himself with her, things had transformed inside him. In the way he thought and felt about being so closed off from others. Really, the only two people he was close enough to be able to voice his innermost thoughts were Natasha and Coulson. The _why_ was easy, but the actual letting go…that was hard. Harder than he had thought it would be.

They spent a few minutes just listening to the music and the babble of voices around them. The way she fiddled with her cup told him that she had something to say, but was reluctant. Clint put his left hand over both of hers. "You have something you want to ask me. Go ahead."

"Do you really think I'm gracious?"

"I do." He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "Gracious, enchanting, captivating."

She tried to pull her hand away, suddenly shy, but he refused to let go. "Stop. You're embarrassing me."

"No one's ever told you how beguiling you are?"

"Uh, no. For one thing, I'm not sure you're right. I can be a…bitch sometimes."

Shrugging, Clint looked up when the server came by with more coffee and the check. "Can't we all? But without the occasional glimpse of darkness, how can we appreciate the light?"

From the look in Naomi's eyes, what he said had surprised her. "A master archer, daredevil _and_ a poet."

He met her eyes with his, giving her hand one last squeeze before releasing her. "You about ready to go?"

"Definitely."

The server returned with his change, he left her a generous tip then followed Naomi out into the dimming light of early evening. Going to the truck's passenger side, he opened the door. The light from inside created a sort of halo around her head. In this light, she looked so kissable was the only word he could think of at the moment though it wasn't exactly right.

Her tongue licked her lips leaving them looking moist and inviting. Accepting the invitation, he placed his hands on her waist to pull her close. He lowered his head and she tilted hers up and to the side as her hands came to rest on his shoulders. The moment his lips touched hers, he closed his eyes. They stayed like that, not moving, just letting their lips maintain contact.

Easing back, Clint waited for Naomi to say something, but instead, her hands wrapped around his neck to pull him down so she could ravish his mouth and he returned the favor, both hands smoothing up and down her back as if he couldn't get close enough. He felt like they were falling, his left hand shooting out to grip the edge of the door.

The lights of a vehicle pulling into the parking lot illuminated them just as they pulled apart. His chest heaving, he looked down into her eyes and saw in them what she had to be seeing in his: desire.

But he knew it was too soon to take that step. Naomi must have had the same idea because she adjusted the front of her coat and climbed into the truck. Clint got behind the wheel and soon they were back at his apartment building. He parked and walked with her to her car, hands in his pockets.

~~O~~

Naomi unlocked her car, facing Clint before getting in. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

Digging in her purse, Naomi handed him her cell phone. "Put your number in there." He looked at it without taking it, a glimpse of wariness in his eyes.

"Why?"

"So I can call and invite you to dinner."

The wariness disappeared as he rested his right arm on the top of her car and leaned close, his voice taking on the throaty whisper he'd used while teaching her. "You've already done that."

Allowing her lips to turn upward flirtatiously, their eyes met and held. "What if I wanna call just to say good night?"

"In that case…" Clint took the phone from her, letting their hands touch as much as possible during the transfer. He glanced down as his left thumb tapped out his number and name then he handed it back.

She liked that the surface of the phone was warm from his touch, the return taking as long as it had the first time. He didn't release his hold immediately, but tugged just a little, leaning down to brush one last kiss over her lips before putting her in and shutting the door. When she looked in the rear view mirror, he was still standing there, both hands in his pockets.

In the morning, Naomi and Serene headed out on a planned shopping trip. As they approached Naomi's car, her friend said, "Hey, what's that?"

An embossed envelope in a pale seafoam green had been slipped under the driver's side wiper. "Don't know." She opened it, pulled out the fancy card, a silly smile blooming on her features when she read the contents.

"Well? Who's it from?"

"It's not signed. Probably from Clint."

"O-Oh! He's _that_ kind of friend now."

Now Naomi was embarrassed. "What? No. At least not yet."

Serene jumped on the last few words, grinning like a fool. "Yet? That means you have plans to get down and dirty with that hunk of hotness. When?"

"It's not _like_ that. Really." Serene crossed her arms, tapping one foot, a skeptical stare in her light brown eyes. "He kissed me last night."

"_O-oh!_ How _was_ it?"

Looking down at her feet, Naomi debated if she should tell all or keep it to herself. Oh, what the hell! "It was fantastic! Girl, my knees went all weak and my stomach did this little flip."

"Tell me more!"

"I wanted to drag him into the cab of his truck and…" Naomi shrugged.

Wiggling her eyebrows, Serene got into the passenger seat. "And you said he's really fit so I bet he has _amazing_ stamina."

"Serene!" Naomi laughed even while blushing furiously as she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Neither woman had seen the man sitting in a car just a few spaces down. His expression of expectation changed to one of disappointment when the lovely Naomi came to the erroneous conclusion that it had been the meddler who had given her the card _he_ had picked out especially for her. Slamming his palm against the steering wheel, he started the car and headed in the direction of home, ideas churning in his head.

~~O~~

The next week came and went. The weather improved then deteriorated again leaving a foot of snow on the ground and annoying Clint on his runs though Naomi seemed to take it in stride, easily avoiding the drifts pushed to the side by the snowplows. Clint on the other hand had almost fallen trying to imitate her, once nearly stepping in a pile of frozen dog poo exposed by the plows. Naomi laughed and used his momentary inattention to gain a few feet in their informal race, but he easily caught up and they continued their run side by side.

On cold days like this, they planned their route to go past one of those overpriced coffee shops where they indulged in hot coffee and zucchini muffins before heading to their respective homes to get showered and dressed for the day. Clint would be off to classes and Naomi to her research studies. The difference now was that at the end of their run, they shared a quick, or sometimes not so quick, kiss before parting.

On several occasions, Clint had foiled purse snatchings and once caught a guy who thought the taco cart would be easy pickings. The would-be robber had stolen the owner's cash box and a box of taco shells. Clint had used his scarf to tie the guy up and leave him for the cops who made scheduled patrols of the area.

On the news, he kept hearing about the Gateway Park Hero, inwardly cringing at the nickname. The descriptions from witnesses varied greatly. It was something he counted on when he performed what he considered his civic duty. He had found himself incapable of just letting the bad guys get away with preying on those unable to defend themselves. What did amuse him was on more than one occasion, the frightened petty criminals swore that Batman had swooped out of the sky to capture them. One fellow had even described him as the Unabomber because he would pull the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to keep his face from being seen.

Finally, Saturday arrived and with it a nervousness that Clint had not experienced since his first show as the Amazing Hawkeye. That show was far in his past, but the memory of that day would stay with him forever. He had paced inside the small room that was his home imagining all of the things that could go wrong.

But what he also remembered was that the show had gone off without a single hitch. He hit the targets with pinpoint accuracy, each trick flawlessly executed. He just hoped that the dinner he was making for Naomi would end the same way.

Clint had been studying all day while a pot of homemade sauce simmered on the stove and planned on picking up the rest of the supplies on the way to Naomi's. He had not made lasagna since the cooking classes he had taken as part of his training. After that he was forced to show off his skills to Natasha and Coulson. They had seemed quite impressed that he had learned so quickly, though he supposed that one had to have some innate talent.

His philosophy homework done, he shut off the sauce to cool for the ride to Naomi's then returned to the computer to start on geometry. An hour later, he sat back to rub his eyes and yawn. A glance at the clock told him he'd be late if he didn't hurry.

Scrambling to his feet, he pulled clean clothes from the closet, tossed them on the bed then jumped into the shower. A few minutes later he was ready to go. He set the alarm and locked up before making his way down to the parking lot. Setting the pot on the front floorboard of the truck, he buckled up and hit the first light while it was still green.

~~O~~

Checking her hair in the mirror on the way to the door, Naomi felt she could look better, but she would do for dinner at home with Clint. Opening the door, she was startled to see him standing there holding a pot.

"Got someplace for this?"

"Of course. Come in. The kitchen's that way." He walked past her and waited while she picked up bags with the name of a chain grocery store. She followed him, setting the bags on the counter. "Let me know if I can help."

"In a bit. You could set the table, if you like. It'll be at least an hour."

"Got it. I'll just get out of your way until you need me."

The view from Naomi's patio window was pleasant so she dragged the table over in front of it then took out the dishes she kept for special occasions. Going to the hall closet, she got up on the stool to search for her nice tablecloth. Someone knocked on the door but before she could climb down, she heard Clint's voice call out, "I'll get it."

"Thanks. Be right out."

~~O~~

Clint tossed the hand towel he had been using over his shoulder as he went to the door, his hand automatically reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. He peeked out the peephole to see a pretty African-American woman. She appeared harmless, but looks could be deceiving. He opened the door ready for anything.

"Yeah?"

The woman seemed startled to see him, her eyes wide with more than curiosity. "I, uh…"

"You're looking for Naomi."

A big smile came over the woman's face. "You're _him!_ The guy who's been leaving the flowers and notes for Naomi."

Clint didn't know how to respond to that question so he just stared, his mind working over what she had said. Someone was leaving Naomi flowers and notes. Why would she think it was him? "If I was going to give a woman flowers, I wouldn't leave them on her car." He put out his right hand. "Clint. A friend of Naomi's."

"Serene. I live next door."

They were joined by Naomi holding a linen tablecloth decorated in fall colors and napkins to match. She looked at her friend, at Clint and back. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"I'll leave you two alone. Nice meeting you, Serene."

"You too, Clint."

~~O~~

Serene watched Clint walk away with a glint in her eye mouthing the words _Oh my God!_ "You didn't tell me he was HOT! And what a fine set of…"

"Serene," Naomi said with a warning tone.

"…assets he has."

"What do you want? I'm a little busy here."

A wicked grin came to her lips. "Busy now. Gettin' busy later?" When Naomi frowned and thrust one hip to the side, Serene knew she had gone almost too far. "There's a strange smell coming from your apartment."

"Smell?"

"Food. I smell _food_ cooking. And knowing you don't cook, well, I felt compelled to investigate. So he's cooking?"

"NYB." Scrunching her face, she tried to puzzle it out, but couldn't. "None of your business. Okay. Lasagna and no, there's not enough for three. This is a _date_, in case you haven't figured it out."

Waving her hand carelessly, Serene shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. To say her bag was a purse would be like calling a category five hurricane a summer sprinkle. "Four. Donny's on his way over. And he's bringing Chinese so we couldn't anyway. Ya know, I was thinking."

"Really? You're going to start at your age?"

"Ha. Ha. Why don't you bring him to dinner at my place next week? I'll make my world famous chili and we'll play games."

"This is so new for both of us. I'm not sure he's ready for that." Grinning, Serene let her think it over. Ah, there it is. "Okay. I'll ask. But no promises."

Holding her hands up as if in supplication, she shifted her feet. "That is all I am asking. Have a great evening." The door closed just as Donny leaned down to give her a kiss. In his right hand he was holding a white rose and what looked like another card.

"I found these on Naomi's car. What?" Her boyfriend had seen the look on her face.

"I'm a little worried about her. She has a date tonight, but he couldn't be the one leaving her this stuff." Serene unlocked the door and let them in. "What if she has a stalker?"

Donny tossed his briefcase and coat on the chair then carried their dinner to the table. "You know the law as well as I do. We can't do anything until there is a proven threat. Flowers and cards are not a threat."

"Then what _are_ they?"

"They're _cards_ and _flowers_. Nothing more."

Skeptical, she put her arms around his neck as his went around her waist. "Okay. But I'm keeping them just in case."

"That's my girl. Always thinking of others." He kissed her soundly and she returned the favor.

~~O~~

Outside, the man lurked in the shadows watching the light in Naomi's window. Shadows flickered on the curtains as she and that man moved around. He breathed a sigh of relief. If they were casting separate shadows that meant they weren't in bed together.

With a smile, he thought about the poem he'd written himself and placed inside the blank card. She would read it and come running to be with him. Tomorrow was going to be a great day.

**TBC **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful _ladygris__._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 10**

The door closed and Naomi's light footsteps came in Clint's direction, stopping in the kitchen doorway. "When you finish setting the table, come back and it'll be ready to put together."

"Put together?"

Clint chuckled. "Meals made from scratch come 'assembly required'."

"Uh…" Her eyes flicked side to side as if she were looking for escape. "I knew that."

"Really?" Clint opened the freezer rooting around among the boxes and bags. "Let's see what do we have in here…Red Baron pizza…Marie Callender's…Stouffer's. Oh, and what is this here all the way in the back." He pulled out a small round container. "Ben and Jerry's?"

"Um…dessert?"

He put it back, closed the freezer and faced the stove again, picking up the ladle to stir the sauce. "Don't be long or we won't eat until midnight."

"I won't."

Listening to the sounds from the other room, Clint wondered once again if this was a good idea. He had no experience in cultivating relationships. The friendships he had with Natasha and Coulson were due more to their persistence than anything he might have done aside from accept the inevitable. But with Naomi, he didn't want her to be the one who did all the work making their relationship solid. He'd have to do his share. He just didn't know what that was.

A sound at the doorway brought his head up from where he had been watching cold water flow over the lasagna noodles in a colander. He shook the excess water off the noodles and set the colander on a folded towel next to the prepared baking pan. "Ready?"

"Yes."

The way he was standing, he could see Naomi from the corner of his eye and found that he liked the way her hips shifted side to side when she walked. She was wearing form fitting white jeans and a sweater in olive green with a deep V in the front lined with fake fur the same color. Her necklace and earrings were made of tiger's eye stones, the lighter areas seeming to glow as if radiating the warmth of her skin. He found it entrancing, but didn't want to offend her by staring. "You add the noodles and I'll do the sauce. We can both do the cheeses."

"Just tell me when."

Clint ladled sauce into the bottom of the baking dish, waited while Naomi laid out the noodles then sprinkled ricotta cheese, she added mozzarella, he spooned more sauce and motioned for her to do the parmesan. They repeated the layering until the pan was filled, ending with the last of the cheeses. Covering the pan with a sheet of foil, he slid it into the oven and set the timer for thirty minutes. "All done for now."

"Great. Wine?"

"Sure." He again took the opportunity to watch her again. Her movements were neat and efficient as she took the decanter from the refrigerator. The empty bottle was on the counter. Again, his training supplied the details: Barolo. A red wine from the Piedmont area of Italy. It had a concentration of fruit flavors and was best when it was a few years old. The vintage of this bottle was an excellent year.

"Gonna stare at it all night or drink it?"

He tapped his glass against hers. "Cheers." Opening cabinets until he found the bowls, Clint dished up salad and carried the bowls out to the table with Naomi bringing the dressing. They ate and talked until the timer rang. Clint uncovered the lasagna, set the timer again and returned to the table where they watched the view, drank wine and listened to music. He thought about sitting on the sofa, his arm around her, just being mellow, but that lead him to think about things he shouldn't so he didn't suggest it. He just enjoyed this time of being quiet and tried not to worry about the man that might be stalking Naomi. At least for now.

~~O~~

One hand over her face and the other wrapped around her empty wine glass making it jiggle, Naomi peeked between her fingers to see Clint's reaction. He was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

"And that's not even the _funniest_ part. I'm sitting there laughing and choking, covering my mouth with one hand so I wouldn't spray everyone. The root beer started trickling down my hand from nose. I put my other hand up to stop it and it just kept _pouring_ out over both hands. And that's when Donny, Serene's boyfriend, says to my date, 'DUDE! It is coming out her NOSE!' It burned like hell when it went into my sinuses, but Serene and Donny couldn't stop laughing long enough to hand me a napkin. And Milton just stared. FYI - It was my first and _last_ date with Milton."

Eventually, they both got themselves under control and Clint poured them each a half glass of wine to empty the decanter. "And they haven't let you live it down since."

"No. Every time we go to Farrell's Ice Cream Shoppe they refuse to let me order a root beer float."

"Then it's a good thing you have Ben and Jerry to keep you company." Still grinning, Clint ducked when she threw her balled up napkin at him. It unfolded in flight and he caught it easily with his left hand adding it to the one on his plate.

Carrying the dishes to the kitchen, Naomi felt the night had ended better than she might have expected. It still seemed a little early in their relationship for one of them to be cooking for the other in their home, though she, at least, considered it a success.

He was relaxed at the moment, not on edge as he was whenever they were out in public. She knew it had something to do with his past and not her specifically, and hoped one day to get him to talk about how he had come to be the person he was today. And while she didn't want to ruin the rapport they had built over the last couple of months, she needed to ask him some questions he wouldn't like. Though, if she brought it up at the right moment, it could turn out just fine for both of them.

She started a pot of decaf, put the plug in the sink, turned on the hot water and added soap while Clint slid the dishes into the water.

"I'll wash and you dry." He grabbed the sponge and started scrubbing the first dish. After the first few dishes and having to reach across his body to put the clean one in the drain, he said, "I'm left handed so this is backward for me."

"Then _I'll_ wash and _you_ dry." They switched places and the awkwardness was gone. He dried each dish and piece of silverware meticulously before stacking it in the cabinet or the drawer. His concentration was so deep, his expression so solemn, that she just had to do something to pierce it. When he turned his back, she scooped up a handful of suds and blew them at him. It startled him though only for a moment. He shoved his hand through the water and suds, curled his fingers to the palm and flicked. The bubbles hit her square in the face thereby starting a free for all.

There were laughing until Naomi fell against him and, what had to be some of his true character shining through, he dug his fingers into her waist making her giggle. She was ticklish only in that one area.

"We should finish this before the water gets cold." She picked up the next plate, scrubbing at a bit of cheese that refused to be removed and decided to broach the subject that had been on her mind. "Clint…"

"Yeah?" He had his back to her sorting silverware in the drawer.

"I…uh, know about the park."

He stopped moving, his back stiffening momentarily then he continued with what he had been doing. "What about it?"

Not looking him in the eye was the coward's way out so she let the water out of the sink and faced him while drying her hands on a towel. "That _you_ are the Gateway Park Hero. And that guy, the one that saved the kidnapped baby by jumping onto the SUV."

"What makes you think that was me?" As if a different lens had been dropped into place, Clint's expression became unreadable.

"Several things. The captures started within a few days of you moving into the area and you're always in the park either immediately before or just after the incidents."

"I'm not a college student by day and a caped superhero by night. And there are over eight million people living in New York City. I'm certain there are more than a few who fit that extremely general criteria."

She folded the towel in half and hung it on the small bar attached to the side of the counter then took the one held loosely in his left hand and did the same. "One of the criminals caught was tied up with your scarf. The one you conveniently lost that same day."

"It came from a chain store. There must be thousands on the streets of New York at this time of year."

"True. But yours had a funny loop on one end where you snagged it on that tree, remember? I saw that same loop on the news the other day as the guy was being taken away."

Clint closed the silverware drawer leaning his hips against the counter and crossing his arms. He wanted the pose to seem relaxed, casual, but the tension in his shoulders and around his eyes told the true story. He was angry at her and she did not really blame him after hitting him between the eyes with a foul ball. Mentally rolling her eyes as the lame baseball metaphor, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and tugged. At first he refused, but when she persisted, he finally submitted to her silent request. Taking his hand, she led him to the living room and over to sit on the sofa.

"Naomi…"

"Please listen, just for a moment. I didn't bring it up to embarrass you. Anything you say will be confidential." It didn't bode well that he wouldn't look at her, but she had to convince him that she would never hurt him. He'd faced trust issues for most of his life, and she didn't want to let him down. "All I want is to ask a few questions and that's it. We're done and I will _not_ bring it up again.

"Our friendship is important to me, as is my work. And I know you'll feel the same about whatever police force you go to work for in the future. If you can help me, I'd be very grateful."

He hid it well, but Naomi saw the moment he made the decision. Not one to gloat, she went to the bedroom and returned with a pad and pen that already had a list of basic questions she asked all of her research subjects. "Normally, I record the sessions and make notes later. I want you to feel comfortable during this, so it'll just be you and me."

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Ask." His voice held none of the playfulness or warmth it had during their dishwashing session.

"By observing your interactions with others, I can tell you have a strict ethical and moral code. How old were you the first time you stood up to a bully or defended someone weaker than yourself?" She watched his body language as he mused over the question. He knew the answer, but was pretending to recall the memories.

"Almost seven."

"Please tell me about it? You can change the names and places, if that will help. Just go over the circumstances that led to the confrontation and how you resolved it."

~~O~~

Clint shifted forward to rest his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together. He pretended to be sorting out the memories of that day, but in reality, he was rebuilding a wall around this latest act of betrayal. Naomi had somehow found out that he had rescued a few people from criminals, aside from the kidnapping, and had used that to get close to him, to pick his brain and psyche for her research.

Until the moment she mentioned the park, he had thought the evening might be the turning point in his life. That single instant of clarity where he began to see the world through a lens that hadn't been tainted by duplicity and treachery. That maybe, just this once, he'd found someone to make him feel something besides cynicism, suspicion and distrust of those around him. It had taken decades for that wall to be erected and only a couple of months for Naomi to find the loose bricks and begin to remove them to get at the part of him that held onto that one small spark of hope that flickered in his heart and fan it once again into a flame.

And it was gone just that quickly. Gone and unlikely to come back. After this, he couldn't see himself willing to risk what was left of his heart to anyone ever again.

"I'd only been at the orphanage for about three months. We were at recess and I was playing Dodgeball with a group of kids. A boy named Curtis who'd just turned thirteen took our ball and wouldn't give it back. He was bigger than any of us and thought it funny to torment the younger kids. But this was the first time he'd ever singled me out.

"Every time I reached for the ball, he held it above my head and laughed. His cronies gathered around encouraging him. Kids who made trouble were punished by being given additional homework. I didn't want that so I turned and walked away. But he followed, calling me names and clucking like a chicken.

"When I didn't respond to his taunts, Curtis started in on a new boy, John. He'd lost his entire family in a house fire and had only been there a week or so. First Curtis bounced the ball off of John's head making him cry. I couldn't stand by and let Curtis pick on John so I kicked him in the knee and took the ball back.

"Curtis was infuriated. He jumped up and began chasing me. I hid and tripped him as he ran past. While he was down, I got on top of him and hit him over and over until one of the teachers came running. I spent the next week indoors as punishment. My only consolation was that Curtis got the same penalty _and_ sported a black eye for the next two weeks.

"The next time Curtis tried to bully the younger kids, we _all_ stood up to him. After that he and his pals pretty much left us alone. Word got around that no one messed with me and my friends. There were only minor incidents after that." Clint waited for Naomi to say something and when she did not, he looked up. Tears had welled up in her eyes and when she saw him watching her, she brushed them away. He hadn't mentioned Barney because his brother had been in the infirmary with the flu at the time. He also wasn't ready to talk about being abandoned for the second time at the age of twelve by his brother.

"What happened to John?"

"Ever heard of Jeremiah Ridley?"

The skin between her eyes crinkled in thought. "The actor who starred in the movies _Duty Bound_, _Spies Like Us_ and _Alien Portal?_"

"Yes. His real name is John Anderson."

"And what happened to Curtis?"

The slight smile turned into a frown. "He left the orphanage the day he turned eighteen and never looked back. Until about three years ago, he had been doing twenty-five to life on a capital murder charge, but was shanked during an argument over a card game."

She dropped her eyes to her lap where she held the pad in both hands, her neat handwriting having filled several empty pages. "I'm sorry."

"He was a drunk and a bully." Naomi switched the pen and pad to her left hand and reached out with her right. But before she could touch him, Clint sprang to his feet and went to stand looking out at the snow gently falling onto the patio. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. The look of hurt on her face hurt him as well, but after what she had done, making friends with him under false pretenses, he couldn't bear to have her touch him. At least not yet. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Why what?" He heard her get up and come to stand behind him, close enough that he could feel her.

"Why do you do it? Save people?"

The table was still by the patio doors. He gave it a cursory glance then returned to his perusal of a spot six inches in front of his nose. The clink of china made him look down. Naomi had brought him a cup of coffee. Holding the saucer in his right hand, he took a sip then set the fragile cup back in place. "For the most clichéd reason in the world. It's wrong for the strong prey on the weak. If I can do something about it, I will."

Hoping that his silence would force Naomi to explain herself, he waited. When she said nothing, he decided it was time to leave.

"Thanks for dinner. And the talk." He set the cup on the table, his hand tracing the raised design, eyes on the view though he didn't really see it. Turning suddenly, he crossed the room in three long strides and closed the front door softly on his way out.

**TBC**

**A/N: **I know this ending isn't what's come to be expected, but stay tuned. I promise, it will get better.

~Sandy


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful _ladygris._

The last chapter didn't end well, so here's the next one to make up for it.

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 11**

Fairly dancing with glee, he watched as the interloper stalked out of Naomi's building, got in his truck and drove off. From the look on his face, the night had not ended on a happy note. And that made _him_ happy even if no one else was. Now that they were over, he could swoop in and save the day. Yes, his time was coming and he would be ready.

Putting binoculars to his eyes, he attempted to see what Naomi was doing, if she was brooding about their little tiff. She surprised him by parting the curtains and seeming to look right at him. The thought scared and thrilled him at the same time. She dropped the curtains and he thought about her walking barefoot into the bedroom to change into demure, yet appealing night clothes. They would be warm, made of the softest fleece to caress her flawless skin in a color that complimented her.

The cold air finally got to him. He set the binoculars aside, buckled his seat belt, started the car and drove away knowing that someday, he would be the one to accept an invitation to dine with the lovely Naomi. To share a meal that had been created by her own hands just for him.

~~O~~

From her front door, Naomi watched Clint hit the crash bar on the stairwell door and disappear. It felt as if he were not walking, but _running_ out of her life. She reached out and kicked the ottoman hurting her foot then limped into the kitchen. Clint's pans and ladle still sat on the counter waiting to be taken home. "You forgot your pans. Thanks for making dinner by the way. Wanna have dinner with Serene and Donny next week?" She deepened her voice. "I would love to, Naomi. Come here and gimme a kiss!"

Her long sigh echoed slightly in the tiled kitchen. She limped into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed to take off her sock in order to see if she had bruised any of the toes. "Idiot! Never kick an ottoman without shoes. At least they're not broken or bruised. Makes getting a pedicure easier. And after the night I've had, I deserve to be…" she sighed deeply, "…beaten with a wet noodle. _Why?_ Why did you even bring it up?"

Leaving the one sock off, Naomi got up and paced from the closet to the nightstand to the desk and back. She'd shown Clint around, but didn't even open the door to the bedroom. Didn't want him to think she had expectations about where this night was headed.

Hope that they would one day end up under her Egyptian cotton sheets together had made her take this relationship slow. On their first meeting, Clint had given off this animal-like vibe that told her he would be thorough in his efforts to please any woman he chose to be intimate with. Sexuality practically oozed from every pore on his body. It was something that was a part of him and not something that was learned. He may have learned to channel it, but he had to have been born that way because it flowed so naturally.

The day they had gone to the archery range and he'd taught her how to shoot a bow and arrow, Clint had let just a small amount of that allure out of its cage and she had nearly been overwhelmed. God help her if he ever let himself be as seductive as she thought he could be.

On her next lap, Naomi went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Coming out, she removed her jewelry, laying them on the dresser then pulled clean pajamas from the middle drawer, stripped off her clothes, including the granny panties she had worn as insurance against losing control and put them on. She'd also purposely not shaved her legs as additional insurance.

Retrieving her sock, she pulled it on, yanked down the covers and crawled into bed to stare at the ceiling. After what seemed like a really long time, but could only have been a few minutes, she switched out the light, debated setting her alarm for all of a nanosecond, rolled onto her right side and told herself in a stern internal voice to go to sleep.

Unfortunately, herself didn't listen so she rolled onto her left side which reminded her that Clint was left handed. Why it should be an issue at any time, she didn't know and her internal voice was keeping her yap shut about it for now. Probably a good idea because she was the one that opened her mouth and said it was a good idea for Clint to be included in her research.

Tossing the covers back, she padded out to the living room to get her pad. Back in her room, she sat on the side of the bed reading what she had written about Clint and his need to be the hero. But that was not quite right. He didn't have a need to go out and look for people to save. He did it because there were so many bad people and wanted to make this world safe for all. To make a difference.

"Randy" had tried and failed to stop a robbery in progress at a convenience store. The man had wanted to do something to impress his wife and kids. Though he made a good living, his family seemed less than thrilled that he was an accountant with one of the most prestigious accounting firms in North America. To them, his job wasn't glamorous or interesting. At least that's what he thought. His idea had been to do something heroic in order to gain favor in their eyes. What he got was shot in the leg for his efforts. He lived, but his wife and kids scolded him for putting his life in danger. And Randy went home from the hospital a few days later, a lot wiser, to be waited on hand and foot by his loving family.

After reading her notes all the way through, she tore off the pages and rewrote them changing the names and leaving out the part about a famous tough guy actor having been bullied as a child. No one would ever hear about Jeremiah Ridley and his less than humble beginnings. At least not until he wrote his biography. Only then would she be able to tell people that she knew someone who'd grown up with _the_ Jeremiah Ridley.

Setting the pad aside, Naomi tore the pages into very small pieces and flushed them before going into the living room and over to the patio doors. She grasped the edges of the curtain and parted them so she could look out. The snow had stopped, but not before coating her patio furniture in a blanket of white.

A flash of light caught her eyes and she stared harder at the spot. A road ran alongside of her building and many of the residents had visitors park there. Clint had done so himself. But this was not Clint. His truck was white. This vehicle was a dark color and definitely not a truck. Dropping the curtains, she flattened herself against the wall to the right bumping into a bookcase. The knick-knacks rattled, but she ignored it.

Using one finger, she carefully lifted the edge of the curtain where it met the wall. Getting up on her tiptoes, she tried to see what type of car it was. However, the driver must have gotten tired of his game because he started it up and drove away. At this distance, she wasn't able to see the tag.

Guessing that it was just a coincidence that the car left while she was watching, Naomi returned to her room, laid the pad on the table and got back under the covers. Again she lay there thinking, more about Clint than anything else. Her work was important, but so was being a friend. Mother had taught her that. Well, starting tomorrow, it would-hopefully-all be better. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and the next thing she knew, it was morning.

~~O~~

Choosing to avoid all the places he and Naomi had met, Clint began bringing his lunch and begged coffee from classmates who lived in the dorms and his professors. Crosse had told him to come by her office anytime and help himself. On most occasions, she was gone, but sometimes she would be there and they'd talk for a while. As he had seen that first day, she had a way of drawing people out with just a few words, and he found himself telling her things that he hadn't told anyone aside from Natasha. Things about his life at the orphanage after his parents had died in a car accident. That the most vivid memories of his father were the abuse leveled on Clint and his brother through the stench of stale alcohol, and his mother's inability to stop it except on rare occasions. Ironically, his parents had been killed by a drunk driver. Sadly, it had been one of the few times that his father had been sober as far back as Clint could remember.

Clint had also confessed that though he had warm feelings associated with the memories of his mother, he had been unable to remember her face. In his mind, he saw her sitting or standing, hands clasped in front of her, eyes straight ahead as his father heaped drunken insults at her. She had taken the abuse with aplomb and poise, never once returning fire or attempting to refute his father's accusations that everything that went wrong in their lives was her fault.

Sometimes, late at night when he was feeling vulnerable and sorry for himself, he would lie in bed and he could swear he felt her gentle hand smoothing a lock of hair from his forehead so she could press a kiss there. He hadn't told Crosse this because he was uneasy about sharing those particular recollections.

It had surprised him that he found it oddly comforting to talk to someone about his life before the circus. And though Crosse wasn't a psychologist, she did have a keen insight into the human psyche through reading, teaching and observing. She could've been a carny.

What muddled his thinking now had been Crosse's offhand suggestion of hypnosis to help him regain the memories of his mother. He'd immediately dismissed the suggestion, though later he began to think it might have some merit.

Having just left Crosse's empty office with a full cup of steaming coffee, weak by his standards, he once again encountered Coulson. He didn't have time to stop and chat today, so when Coulson stepped into his path he kept on walking.

"Barton, we need to talk."

"Then try to keep up. I have a class in a few minutes." Coulson did keep up, making it seem effortless though Clint had purposely set a brisk pace. "So, need me to pull your ass out of the fire again? What is it this time, a secret love child?"

"It is not _my_ ass, per se." He took an envelope from his left breast pocket holding it in one hand as they walked. "It's all in here. Three days at most and you are back to college life. You won't be leaving until Friday evening so there's time to prepare."

Clint finished off the coffee and tossed the cup in the nearest can without breaking stride. "You said my missions would be assigned to other agents. Are you now rescinding that agreement?"

Coulson took his fedora off and brushed a hand through his blond hair. "As that was a verbal agreement, it can hardly be enforced. And this particular mission requires your personal skill set."

Up ahead, Clint saw something that caused him to slow down momentarily. Naomi had been coming toward him, but she turned and headed in another direction, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to endure the inevitable awkwardness. "That's what you said the other three times. Seems the family would have more than one member with the necessary skills."

"Yes, but they don't have your…finesse. Your delicacy of touch."

Most people would've agreed to the mission just on that alone, but Clint knew when he was being played. Every carny learns that lesson quickly or they don't last long in the business. Clint was made from different cloth. And though he wanted to decline, he nodded reluctantly. Coulson did, after all, save his life. "Fine. But three days is all I can spare. I have exams next week." The men stopped walking, Clint facing Coulson in the weak morning light that filtered through the dark gray clouds. "You realize that if I get killed on one of your last minute missions that the _family_ will have wasted the thousands of bucks it put up for tuition."

"That's been taken into account. However Uncle Nick believes that it's worth the risk." Setting the fedora back on his head, Coulson smiled. "And luckily, if you do fail to return, you have no roommate upon whom the university would have to bestow unwarranted passing grades."

"Excuse me?"

Rocking up on his toes and back onto his heels, Coulson grinned ruefully. "Most colleges and universities have a policy that if your roommate dies, you get an automatic 'A' for all of your classes."

Clint did not understand why the death of another by whatever means was humorous. He just turned and stalked up the stairs of the philosophy building, slamming the door behind him.

~~O~~

Naomi had seen Clint walking toward her and wanted to speak to him. To at least see how he was doing, but she saw his erstwhile cousin talking to him so she headed in a different direction. She thought about calling him, but that meant he could avoid her by hanging up on her. In person would be better, but here, out in the open and with his abilities, he could easily elude her and she wouldn't be able to follow him. No, what she had to do was meet him on his own turf, so to speak, where he would feel less exposed physically and emotionally.

Naomi entered the research area of the psychology building, stashed her things in the office she shared with three others and went in search of something hot to drink to take away the chill of winter. As she sipped the tea, she reflected that no amount of hot beverages would warm the ice in her heart especially as it was accompanied by a rock that sat in her stomach making her sick. She had wronged a friend and had to make things right between them or she had no business helping others solve their problems.

~~O~~

With the Internet disconnected to prevent hacking and the CD Coulson had given him loaded onto his computer, Clint went over the mission plans for the fifth time in two days. He already knew the info forwards and back, but it was something to keep his mind busy that had nothing to do with school work. School work reminded him of Naomi and he didn't want to think about her right now. He had to stay focused on his classes and the upcoming mission.

From what he'd read, any number of other agents could've completed the mission with little to no difficulties. Since this was the fourth assignment he had been sent on in the last six months, he already figured out that these were tests. Especially the favor he'd done for Coulson. He hadn't looked at the photos-that would have been _way_ too much info about a man who was ostensibly his boss-so he hadn't been certain it _was_ a test. Whatever the reasons, he'd do the best job he could. That was one thing his mentor, Buck Chisholm had instilled in him. He said, "Whatever you are, be a good one."

Clint was an agent of SHIELD and he would be the best one he could be. He ignored for the moment the fact that he was also a master assassin. Someone who could kill at a moment's notice and not leave a trace. That he'd botched his first assignment still rankled but not as much as it should.

With more force than necessary, he hit eject, removed the CD and tossed it on the desk. The writing on the case, _Disco Hits_, might've made him laugh if his life weren't just so much crap.

Clint's stomach grumbled reminding him he hadn't eaten since morning and then it was just a bagel with schmeer and coffee. Scratching his chest, he went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Beer, beer, mustard, bagels, two kinds of schmeer, left over pizza, milk, iced tea, eggs, onions and pickles. He'd just started a mental grocery list when someone knocked on his door.

The Berretta in hand, he kept his thumb over the safety as he checked the peephole. The distorted image of a bundled up Naomi held a bag in both hands, the name of a local Chinese restaurant on the side. He was tempted to just open the door with the weapon in his hand, but didn't. He was still ticked off but didn't want to scare her.

Shoving the Berretta in his waistband, he opened the door, blocking the way in, his right hand on the edge of the door and his left arm leaning against the jamb. "Yeah?"

Naomi put on a falsely jovial smile. "Hi! I brought dinner. Hope you like Chinese."

Not returning her smile, he shifted his feet. "More questions?"

"Just one. I haven't seen you in the park or at school. You okay?"

One of his neighbors stepped into the hall, an older man who was too interested in what others were doing. Clint saw the man watching them with undisguised interest. Stepping aside, he gestured for her to come in then closed the door firmly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason." She set the bag of food on the small table in the dining room then went into the kitchen, opening cabinets until she found the plates. "Silverware?" Clint pointed wordlessly. "Napkins?" Finding nothing in the drawers, she faced him, hands on her hips. He shrugged sheepishly. "You don't have _real_ napkins? Grrr! Bachelors! I got several different dishes so we will eat family style, if that is okay with you."

All while she'd been talking, he watched from the doorway as she walked back and forth setting the table. She set out the food in the omnipresent white and red cardboard containers while he surreptitiously hid the Berretta, again in the old crockpot.

"Why're you _here?_" It hadn't been easy for him to get a word in edgewise, but he managed.

Giving him a sad look, as if he were more than a little slow to catch up, she repeated, "I told you. I brought dinner." Again, he just stared at her thinking one of them must be going mad. His money was on himself though that could change at any moment. "Well, that's what friends do, Clint. They spend time together doing things they both enjoy. We both like to eat so…"

"What about the other night? The questions?"

She pulled out a chair and belatedly, he held it for her thinking, _Yeah. It's her. _She's_ the crazy one._

Opening the containers, she served herself. When he remained standing, she gave him a pointed look until he sat down. He continue to stare at her so she scooped steamed rice onto the center of his plate, covering it with a spoonful each of orange chicken, broccoli beef and sweet and sour pork. A pair of chopsticks lay alongside his plate on the left and he felt himself thawing just a little that she'd remembered he was left handed.

Chewing thoughtfully, Naomi watched him as he unwrapped his chopsticks and pulled them apart, waiting until he had taken his first bite before speaking again. "Clint, do you remember the day we met?" He just kept his eyes on her face without speaking. "Well, my momma brought me up to be friendly and helpful despite being born and raised in New York City. That day, you looked lost and I don't mean just physically. I could see that you needed a friend so…" She shrugged.

And that is when it dawned on him that he might've been wrong about her intent. "You didn't…" he gestured with the chopstick indicating the two of them.

"Didn't what? Offer to be your friend just so you'd help with my research? No. I didn't figure out it was you until after our first date." Her eyes dropped shyly to her plate. "By then I'd already decided…" Her left hand flexed on the table, her nails tapping a nervous rhythm.

Clint laid his right hand over hers to make her stop. At his touch, she inhaled sharply, her head coming up, brown eyes meeting blue-gray. "Naomi. _What_ did you decide?"

"That I wanted to be more than just a friend."

At Naomi's admission, his hand jerked away and his heart stopped for a split second then sped up as did his breathing. With an effort, he brought his body back under control. Well, parts of him had minds of their own. And right now, he didn't care. Giving her a long, intense look, he shrugged one shoulder then picked up a chunk of the pork and bok choy. "Okay."

Her eyes narrowed at what she had at first perceived as a negative response. "_Okay?_ I just poured my heart out and that's _all_ you have to say?"

One side of Clint's mouth turned upward. "Yeah."

A mischievous smile lit up her face in the dim lighting of the dining room. "Does that mean we're gonna make out tonight?"

His grin matched hers, intensified by the wiggling of his eyebrows. "_Yeah._"

**TBC **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 12**

Rage built inside him as he followed Naomi first to the restaurant then to the interloper's home. But he was smart. A genius, though he had to keep reminding others of the fact. He could find out what he wanted to know without too much fuss. His friend at the Division of Motor Vehicles looked up his information so that he now knew the interloper's name was Coulson? One thing that puzzled him was that the mailing address he had been given was for a post office box located in a small town in Arkansas.

He put that thought to the side and once more reached into the passenger seat to make sure the packages were still there. Through the gloves, he felt their shapes, the smaller one for Naomi and the larger one for the interloper. He just had to get it to him and didn't want to leave it on the truck's hood.

Someone pulled up and parked a few spaces from him. He took the larger box and followed the other person to the locked front door trying to look as if he belonged. He nodded thanks when the door was held for him then waited for her to get into the elevator before scanning the names on the mailboxes. None said Coulson though a few had no name at all. Coulson had to live in one of them. Bits of paper stuck to the outside of one box showing that the name had recently been removed. Who was this guy? If it weren't for his interference in the wooing of the lovely Naomi, _he_ would be first in her life. He had to get that guy away from her before he sullied her reputation.

From what he knew, which admittedly wasn't much, and what he had postulated with that sparse knowledge, he came to the conclusion that Coulson lived on the second floor in the third apartment on the right. Entering the elevator, he pressed the button for the second floor, walked down the hall, carefully set the box on the welcome mat knocked and scurried into the stairwell without waiting for Coulson to come to the door.

Back outside, he took the smaller box to Naomi's car, used a lockout tool to open the door and left it in the passenger seat. He relocked the door then got into his car and drove home.

~~O~~

Just like the night he'd cooked dinner, Naomi washed and Clint dried the dishes though this time they didn't engage in playful banter or splash each other.

As she'd feared, Clint had allowed even more of that incredible magnetism free. He moved around the small kitchen brushing up against her in a way that almost seemed accidental except for the mischievous grin he flashed at her each time.

A lock of hair had come loose from where she had tucked it behind her ear tickling her cheek. Using her shoulder, she tried to brush it away, almost jumping when he used his finger to remove the wayward lock from her cheek. His thumb followed behind it, gently grazing the skin along the edge of her cheekbone while his finger tucked it behind her ear. He didn't stop there however, but kept moving backward and down the back edge of her ear until it reached the bottom of her earlobe.

When she looked up at him, he smiled and brushed a kiss over her lips while gently stroking his thumb over her cheek. The sensation was so intense her hands clenched, the right on the sponge and her left on a metal scrubber with a sharp edge that poked her thumb. "Ow!"

His eyes full of concern, Clint took a step back. "Sorry. Didn't mean to…"

"It wasn't you. It was me." Naomi pulled her hands from the water, turned the faucet on to rinse off the soapy residue so she could see the injury. He surprised her by taking her hand gently with both of his to examine the digit. Thankfully, all either of them could see was a small red dot leaving her feeling she'd gotten shortchanged for the amount of pain it had caused. Pain that faded away as Clint held her hand, the thumb that had tantalized her cheek now doing unimaginable things to the palm of her hand. To keep the emotions from making her do something incredibly stupid, she pulled out of his grasp. "I-I…it's fine. I'll just…put the food away…"

She was stalling and he knew it to go by the cheeky grin and twinkle in his eyes. Idly, she noticed that the light blue-gray of his irises had darkened to the color of storm clouds, his breathing slow and steady though his heart had to be beating at least as fast as hers to go by the throbbing of the pulse just below his jaw. "Done. Dishes too."

"Oh. Right. Uh, I have to clean out the sink and…"

"Leave it." The tone of Clint's voice was almost a demand as he took her hand and led her out to the living room.

At that point, she realized she needed to brush her teeth. "I have to…"

"Okay."

Escaping into the bathroom, Naomi closed the door and leaned against it. It had been _her_ suggestion that they make out, but now she was having second thoughts. She knew for a fact that if she changed her mind, Clint would abide by the decision. There was nothing in this world that would cause him to act against his nature. Once the word no entered the conversation that would be the end of it.

After attending to business, she washed her hands then squirted some of his toothpaste on her finger, rubbed it over her teeth, rinsed and dried her hands. Pushing the hair back from her face, she proclaimed herself ready.

~~O~~

Going to the entertainment center, Clint turned on some soft music, made sure there were no booby traps on or in the sofa and waited impatiently for Naomi to come out of the bathroom. A moment later, the light went off and she came out, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. He didn't blame her. He was a little nervous himself. "My turn. Make yourself comfortable."

Clint closed the bathroom door, immediately grabbing his toothbrush and giving his teeth a thorough cleaning. He attended to other business, washed his hands then ran them though his hair while they were still wet. His hair was a little longer than he normal kept it, but hadn't bothered to have it cut the last few months with the result being that the longer strands in front would occasionally flop down over his forehead. He made a mental note to have it cut before leaving on the mission, switched out the light and stepped out into the hall.

Instead of sitting on the sofa, Naomi had taken off those funky boots she had worn and was standing at the patio door watching the snow fall. Silhouetted against the fading night sky, she looked ethereal. Toeing off his sneakers, he walked up behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders and urging her to lean against him. His hands slid down her arms to her hands taking them from the curtains and wrapping both around her waist. She leaned into him, her head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. Taking her hands from under his, she used them to caress him from just above the wrist to his fingertips.

Her touch was so light, so delicate, that Clint felt his body reacting in a predictable fashion. Hoping she wouldn't notice, he released her, all but one hand, and led her to the sofa. He sat down on the end wedging himself into the corner then urged her to sit beside him. Turned slightly toward him, all she had to do was look up to see his face.

With her free hand, Naomi grasped his, weaving their hands together in his lap. After kissing her knuckles, he slithered his arms around her waist, her free hand coming up to press against his chest. She sighed in contentment, closed her eyes and finally relaxed.

They stayed just like that for who knew how long before Clint felt her fingers flexing, the short nails lightly scraping the skin under the material of his shirt. Again, she looked up at him, this time giving him a tempting smile. It seemed like an invitation so he took her up on the offer and pressed a feather soft kiss to her lips.

Now it was his turn to sigh. Clint had kissed Naomi on many occasions, but in public, seldom in private. This new feeling of intensity disrupted his thought processes causing him to nearly forget his earlier resolve to wait before becoming intimate with her. Always there, lurking in the background, was the reminder that he had made a solemn pact with himself to wait until the moment was right for both of them. His primitive brain, however, overwrote that directive and activated another in its place.

When she smoothed her palm over his chest, past his collarbone and around his neck, the hand that had been gently squeezing her bicep dropped with lightning quickness around her to pull her fully onto his lap. Her lips parted and again he accepted the invitation, engaging her tongue in a battle with his that seemed to have no end.

Clint sighed again, though to him it sounded more like a moan with Naomi echoing it back to him. Dragging his lips from hers, he spread tiny kisses over her cheek to take the lobe of her ear between his teeth making her gasp. The fingers of his right hand followed the contours of her neck, dipping into the hollow above her collarbone to the edge of her sweater. He pulled the material aside to lay more kisses over that prominence. Her hot breath beat a rapid tattoo over his skin, instantly followed by the scrape of her teeth at the junction of his neck and shoulder making him gasp.

Naomi pulled one hand from the strands of hair at his nape where they had been foraging, scraped along his chest and over to the side dropping down to wiggle under the bottom of is T-shirt to touch the overly sensitive area just above the waistband of his pants. Idly, he thanked whatever God was listening that he remembered to dispose of the Berretta.

He stopped her questing fingers, linking them together for a moment before sliding his arm under her knees so he could lift her against him and get to his feet. The movement startled her and she clutched at him. They had only gone a step when someone knocked on the door.

"Don't answer it," she ordered.

"Wasn't going to." Just a few more steps and they would be on his bed tangled in each other and the sheets. However, the unwanted visitor was persistent, the knocking turning to pounding. With a sigh of resignation and a small rueful chuckle, he set her on her feet. In retribution, she purposely slid slowly down the front of his body making him moan then groan when the knock came again. "I better get that." _That had better not be Coulson or he's a __dead man__! _

Tugging the front of his shirt down and finger combing his hair, he put on a pissed off glare in case it was Coulson and opened the door. "Yeah?"

A man he recognized as one of the tenants of the building stood there holding a box about the size of twelve pack of beer though he doubted that's what it contained. "Someone left this at my door by mistake. Make sure they get the address right next time."

Clint took the box, giving it a cursory glance. "Thanks."

"No prob-" The door slammed in the man's face and Clint could hear him muttering about rude neighbors as he stalked away.

Examining the box in the light, he saw that it had just his name, his alias, written in black marker on an envelope taped to the top of the box. It couldn't have come from his employers-they would have sent it via courier. He had no family in the area and none of his acquaintances aside from Naomi knew where he lived. And Alston, but they had become prickly friends following the race so Clint doubted it was him.

Minimizing contact, he carried it to the kitchen, spread a plastic trash bag and set the box in the exact center before taking down the cellophane wrap. He had just slit the envelope stuck to the top with one of his many knives and pulled out the single page inside handling it by the corners when sounds from the other room reminded Clint that he still had company. Very tempting company.

Naomi was either getting ready to leave or settling in for the night. Quickly scanning the words written on the letter, Clint became angry, but he didn't let it color his feelings toward Naomi or the time they'd spent together tonight. When he joined her again, she wouldn't see anything amiss.

Clint switched out the kitchen light, stepping into the living room to see Naomi stretched out on her left side on the sofa, her head propped on her hand, her right leg bent and dropped in front of her. She gave him a seductive smile and beckoned him to her. He was pulled like a magnet, taking her hand and sitting on the edge of the sofa as she rolled onto her back. Her free hand rested over her flat stomach at the bottom edge of her sweater, drawing his eyes as she dragged just the tips of her fingers up past her hidden navel and over her upper abs to stop just below her breasts. "So where were we?"

Turning, he too laid full length on the sofa, keeping most of his weight on his right side to keep from squashing her. He returned her beguiling smile, slowly lowering his head toward hers as his left knee came to rest between her knees. "Right about…here."

Their mouths touched once again, his left hand finding the bottom of her sweater and sliding up under it, stroking her smooth skin and making her moan. He swallowed the small hums of delight she made when he reached his goal.

Naomi's hands clawed at the back of his shirt pulling it up so she could dig her fingernails into the muscles of his back. He'd just popped the front closure on her pants when a harsh, shrill sound startled them both.

It stopped then started again and through the haze of desire that surrounded them, he recognized it as a cell phone ringing. Moaning in disappointment, he pulled back far enough to speak. "It's yours."

Naomi framed his face with both hands. "Ignore it," she ordered and renewed her assault on his mouth. Eventually it stopped only to start again. "Crap! I should get it."

Getting to his feet, Clint pulled her to a sitting position, handed her the small purse lying on the coffee table, the source of the second unwelcome interruption, then sat next to her. She flipped the phone open with one hand, the other skimming over Clint's shoulder to nip the hairs at his nape. In return, he enfolded her in his arms and laid a line of tiny kisses over her cheek to her ear, again taking the flesh of her earlobe in his teeth.

"Hello?" At that one word, Naomi's entire demeanor changed. She pressed her hand over his mouth so he would stop what he was doing. "Mother! Why are you calling so late? What's wrong?"

His actions thwarted, Clint sat back to wait for her to finish her call so they could get back to what they were doing.

"What? Speak up! I can barely hear you!" Getting to her feet, Naomi scampered into the bathroom and shut the door, muffling her voice. A few minutes later, she came out again and just stood in the hall entrance, the phone in one hand. "Mothers. The great mood killer."

Not having experienced a parent interrupting a delicate moment, he couldn't relate, but there was no denying that it had the same effect on him that it had on her. And this was the second time in under twenty minutes. And now that he'd had a few moments to allow the blood flow to make its way back to the reasoning center of his brain, he was able to recognize that they'd been about to make a mistake. "I'll walk you to your car."

Clint went into the kitchen, opened the cabinet under the sink, located the Ruger by feel, crouching to strap the ankle holster around his left leg. Hands in his pockets, he went to the living room to lean against the wall and watch Naomi putting her boots back on.

She glanced at him and away, suddenly shy. "Sorry. It's just…"

"Yeah." He picked up her coat, waited until she'd put her boots back on and helped her into it, handed her the knit beret she always wore with it then looped the matching scarf around her neck using it to bring her close enough to kiss. "Thanks for dinner and…" he wiggled his eyebrows, his voice husky.

"My pleasure. And I mean that literally."

The look on her face made him chuckle. "It's kind of late. Wanna sleep here? I can take the sofa."

"That's sweet of you, but I have to be at the university early. Lunch tomorrow?"

Nodding, he let go of the scarf and shoved his feet into the sneakers by the front door, pulling his pants leg down over the weapon strapped to his ankle before she could see it. Slipping into his jacket, he took her hand, led her out into the hall, locked up, pocketed his keys then tucked her arm around his elbow. They rode down to the ground floor in silence, but it was a good silence.

"'Night."

"'Night." Naomi unlocked the car, giving him one last kiss before getting in. She smiled at him as she started the car. It was a smile full of promise.

As soon as she turned onto the street, Clint's smile turned into a glare. Not at anything _she_ had done, but at whoever had dropped off that package. He jumped into his truck, gunning the engine and taking off in the same direction as Naomi, taking care not to get close enough for her to catch on that she had a tail. It was late and there was little traffic in their area this time of night. And thankfully they were only two of about six vehicles on the road. None of the others had shown the slightest interest in Naomi or her car. Slowing down to a stop a quarter block away, he kept a sharp eye out for anyone lurking around the building, seeing no one.

Her walk from the parking lot to the building was uneventful, but he wondered if the creep was waiting in her apartment. There had been no evidence that the man had escalated to the point of making personal contact with her so maybe he could end this before she got hurt or worse. He tried to examine how he would feel if he lost her before he had ever really had her, but that only confused him.

Clint knew her apartment was on the second floor, fourth, fifth and sixth windows over. Only one light was on, probably the bathroom. The light went out and that seemed to be that.

The cold seeped into him as he waited for her to go to sleep before completing a check of the area, the comforting weight of the Ruger pressing against his leg. He didn't want to leave evidence of his passage, but the snow on the ground had other ideas. Tomorrow would begin a warming trend so hopefully the footprints that circled the building and the surrounding area would melt. Or if they were seen, they would think it had been maintenance.

Not completely satisfied that Naomi was as safe as she could be, he decided to keep watch for a while. Coulson was always giving orders. Tomorrow, that would change. Clint wanted answers and he would get them. No rejections. No evasions. No excuses. Though he wasn't certain how he could enforce his request if Coulson said no. Well, he could worry about that when or if the time came.

Glancing at his watch as he turned toward home, he estimated that he'd get almost four whole hours of sleep once he hit the bed. And that other situation, the one that he had thought would keep him awake most of the night, thankfully had been taken care of by the cold.

~~O~~

After taking her warm outer wear off and tossing them on the end of the sofa, Naomi threw herself face down, her voice muffled in the downy softness of her coat as she screamed and pounded the cushions with her fist. Sitting up, she took a deep breath to regain her composure, what little there was left after she and Clint had almost… "What the _hell_ were you thinking? He is _not_ the kind of guy you just jump into bed with. What happened to waiting?"

Pushing herself off the sofa with a growl, she yanked her boots off, dropping them in the middle of the floor on her way to the bedroom. "_Clint_ happened, _that's_what."

Leaning her hands on the edge of the vanity, she stared at her reflection. She hadn't bothered to do anything about her hair after he had run his fingers through it while they had been making out and now she had sex hair. _So_ not fair as she had not had sex, but still, she thought it a good look for her. A very good look.

For some reason, that reminded her of the short drive home. Someone had been following her or so it seemed at the time. She lived at the end of Elmwood, a dead end street. People only came down this far if they were coming here. It could've been a coincidence. Dismissing it, she changed into her pajamas, brushed and flossed her teeth then crawled under the covers. Punching her pillows into submission, she turned out the light and tried to go to sleep.

~~O~~

Serene heard Naomi come in from her date with Clint shaking her head that the girl still didn't see that he was a great catch, probably a very passionate lover and should just go for it. She'd seen it in his eyes. If she hadn't had Donny, whom she loved very much, she might have been tempted though she would never poach in a friend's backyard. Clint was the kind of guy she preferred to let take the occasional romp through her subconscious because very often, reality never lived up to the fantasy. But Serene sensed that it wouldn't be a problem with Clint. Either way, if Naomi and Clint had gotten down to business last night, she wouldn't have come home after midnight and gone out early in the morning.

Checking that her power suit was in pristine condition as was her make-up and hair, Serene slipped into her coat, stuck a hat on her head, wrapped a scarf around her neck, grabbed her laptop case and the bag with her heels and purse.

In the parking lot, she was surprised to see uniformed officers talking with Naomi. As she got closer, she could see that someone had spray painted her car with words that she wouldn't repeat in any company, mixed or not. She'd dropped the rose and envelope into a large zipper bag to protect any evidence on them. Donny was an officer of the court, and though she knew she should give them to the police, she hesitated. Spray paint, flowers and cards wouldn't be enough for them to investigate beyond the vandalism.

Somehow, Serene had to get a hold of Clint. Just from the few minutes she'd spent talking to the man she knew he'd be able to solve this problem. Until then she would go to her advertising job, induce people to purchase products they didn't know they needed and earn that big salary.

Catching Naomi's eye, she gave her a sympathetic smile, made a phone with her hand and mouthed "call me", pointed at her wrist and waved. Serene's SUV was parked around the side and as she turned the corner, the scene passed out of her vision. She pressed the key fob to unlock the doors and got in, nearly jumping out of her skin when a male voice said, "Don't be alarmed. I won't hurt you."

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 13**

Back at his apartment, Clint covered the box with the plastic bag to preserve evidence then dug his SHIELD issued phone out, dialed a number that was not in any database accessible by anyone not with the division, gave his security code and was immediately put through to his party.

"_This is new_," Coulson said with some amusement, "_you calling me._"

Clint didn't waste time with Coulson's version of small talk. "I need you to send someone to my apartment at 0900 tomorrow for evidence collection."

"_And why would I do that?_"

"Just do it!" Not one to have to work off nervous energy by pacing, Clint went against his nature just this once, moving restlessly around the apartment. "A friend is being stalked and I've received a box with a note attached telling me to keep my distance."

"_Must see you as a threat._" Chuckling came over the line. "_At least the guy has one thing right. Though how can that be? Because you would never get involved with someone during an op. Am I right?_"

Clint made a sound of frustration, choosing to ignore Coulson's attempt to make him talk. "I also want everything you can get me on Naomi DeLuca. Age approximately twenty-five. Don't know her middle name. Born and raised in New York City. And check out her co-workers and friends."

"_And?_"

"Now!"

"_Relax, Hawkeye. The courier will bring the files when the package is picked up." _The tone of Coulson's voice changed, turning serious._ "Anything else?_"

That was the opening Clint had been waiting for. "Yeah. First, do _not_ call me that."

"_And second?_"

"Get someone else for the mission. I'm not leaving town until this is finished."

There was a pause that had Clint puzzling over then Coulson said, "_Ms. DeLuca is a big girl, Barton. And smart enough to know not take chances with her life._"

The remark made Clint angry though he didn't allow it to show in his voice. "This is _not_ a request, Coulson. Look, I have done _everything_ the _family_ has asked me to do since Day One no matter how ridiculous it seemed. Now it's time to return the favor. Naomi needs someone to keep her safe, and right now, the best person for that job is me."

"_You've told her about your suspicions._"

"I'm just gonna take care of the guy. She doesn't even have to know there was a problem."

"_And _that_ is why she needs to know._" Another pause and Clint knew Coulson was being patient with him as if he were a small child who didn't know better than to touch a hot stove. "_Clint, women don't like secrets of any kind, especially not one of this magnitude. Yeah, it might scare her and shake her up a bit. But she's a strong girl, definitely her father's daughter. She'll appreciate it more if you're honest with her._"

This new quietly serious tone made Clint suspicious. "Sounds like experience talking."

Again there was a long pause, and in that pause, Clint heard Coulson moving around as if he too were pacing. "_Because it is. Go do what you need to do_."

Coulson disconnected the line without signing off. It didn't annoy Clint as that was _his_ usual MO and he appreciated it in others. What continued to nag at him while he got ready for bed was the remark about Naomi being her father's daughter. Who was Naomi's father and what did _he_ have to do with anything? Nothing? Everything? If nothing, then why bring him up? If everything, then why didn't Clint know about him?

No, there was more going on than Clint knew or had been told. And if he read Coulson right, he wouldn't be getting the answers to those questions anytime soon.

The sun came over the treetops as Clint got into his truck and took off. He had come to a decision during the hours he hadn't slept. He'd need someone to keep an eye on Naomi when he couldn't be there.

Parking two streets over, he walked to Naomi's building doing his best to look like a regular guy just out for an early morning stroll. But he didn't go inside or even call to let Naomi know he coming because he had something else in mind.

Going to a snow white SUV, he took a device from his pocket and used it to disable the vehicle's alarm. He then picked the lock and climbed into the back seat, reset the alarm and waited. According to Naomi, Serene was a borderline workaholic and always left for her advertising job early. Sure enough, he could see her coming his way. He scrunched down in the backseat and waited for her to get in before speaking. "Don't be alarmed. I won't hurt you."

Serene jumped then relaxed when she realized who it was. "Clint! What're you doing in my car? Have you talked to Naomi this morning?"

Something in her tone put him on alert. "Why?"

"Her car was vandalized during the night. The cops are still with her."

"Vandalized how?"

"Spray paint. Someone wrote awful things. None of which are true." The pretty African-American woman chewed her lower lip. "We probably shouldn't have done it, but Donny found some things on her car the other day and took them."

"What things?"

"A card and a rose."

A lock of hair fell over his forehead and he pushed it away irritably. "What did she say when you gave them to her?"

"Nothing."

He opened his mouth and snapped it shut again before incredulously echoing, "Nothing?"

"No. You see, I…" again she bit her lip, "…I kept them. In a big plastic bag just in case."

"Go get them."

Now Serene smiled that sassy grin he had seen when he first met her. "Don't have to." She opened her tote bag, took out a big zipper bag and passed it to him. "I was gonna try to find you today. To tell you what was going on. Didn't know you'd come to me."

Shrugging, Clint smiled for the first time since Naomi left him the night before. "I get around." He took the bag from her and got out. She buzzed the window down then buckled her seatbelt and started the SUV. "Thanks. I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

Taking a slip of paper from his pocket, he passed it to Serene. "My cell number. I'll be at her place this afternoon, but I might be late. Keep an eye on her and call if anything happens or you see anyone who appears not to belong."

"But what if…"

Smiling confidently, Clint touched her on the shoulder. "I trust your judgment."

"Okay. Donny and I both love her like a sister. We'll take care of her." She took his hand where it rested on the edge of the door and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Bye."

Clint stepped back as she backed out of her parking space and drove off. He returned the way he'd come, drove home and went back to bed to wait for the courier.

~~O~~

Phil called Barton's public landline to let him know he was on his doorstep. It took a while, but the door eventually opened to show a disheveled Barton in bare feet, sweatpants and a T-shirt, yawning and rubbing his eyes. This time he held a Glock in his left hand. "I said 0900," he growled.

"It is now 0905 because it took you nearly five minutes to get to the door," Phil stated succinctly while making a big show of checking the time as he stepped past the other man taking himself out of the view of curious neighbors. "Where is it?"

Barton set the Glock on the table as he went into the kitchen and returned with a brown cardboard box wrapped in cellophane and a plastic bag. "Have it analyzed by the lab and get back to me ASAP."

Nodding, Phil took out a large bag, put both items inside and sealed it. Reaching into his breast pocket, he withdrew a thick manila envelope, hesitating before handing it over. "You understand that the answers you're looking for may not be in there?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Will you be keeping _this_ from her as well?"

Scratching his chest, Barton avoided his gaze, shrugging offhandedly. "It's a life. _My_ life."

"Of course. And ultimately, it _is_ your decision. But what will happen with that life if say the two of you end up in a committed relationship and she found out that you had a background check done on her?"

He watched Barton move restlessly in a small circle while rubbing the back of his head, his hair standing on end. "I'll think about it."

"You do that." Out in the hall, Phil mused on the fact that he had never expected the Amazing Hawkeye to fall in love. And here he'd gone and done just that. It was as much _who_ the woman was as it was that Barton had allowed it to happen in the first place that surprised Phil. As he climbed down the stairs, he sent good thoughts in their direction.

~~O~~

Due to his volatile temper, Nick Fury frequently lived up to his name. Quietly in command under the worst possible circumstance imaginable, during the slow times, he could lash out with deadly force, whether with his fists or his tongue. Fortunately, this wasn't one of those times. The situation called for calm and composed.

"Why is Agent Barton requesting information on Naomi DeLuca?" Fury sat behind his desk, the thrum of the helicarrier's engines a constant background noise that one got used to and missed when it was gone.

Then Coulson sat in one chair and Natasha in the other. She hadn't been invited to the meeting, but had joined them anyway.

Fury glared at her, but said nothing. "Agent Coulson?"

"Agent Barton has encountered a situation that he feels would be more likely to work in his favor if he had more information about the individual involved." Coulson leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

"And how does he know Ms. DeLuca?"

Coulson shrugged carelessly. "They literally ran into each other in the university's food court."

Though he wanted to ask if the relationship had progressed beyond friendship or was headed in that direction, Fury didn't. It was none of his business what the young woman did with her life or with whom she did it. Fury turned to face Natasha. "What are your thoughts on providing an inactive agent with classified information?"

"What could it hurt? She has a stalker. He needs as much information about her as possible to find anyone who might have a grudge or is obsessed with her. Barton's only trying to help this girl, to protect her. Cut him a little slack."

Fury glanced from Natasha to Coulson and back, his fingers interlaced, the elbows planted on the armrests. The ankle of one leg lay across the knee of the other as he swiveled back and forth giving the impression that he was devoting serious thought to the situation, though that was far from true. He'd already made up his mind. Dropping his foot to the floor, he leaned forward, both hands on the desk. "Give him an edited version of what he wants. You know what to leave out. I expect a report when the situation is resolved."

"Of course."

Natasha stood when Coulson did. As their commander, he remained seated. By the time they left his office, he had already brought up the information on Naomi DeLuca. Middle name: Rene. Mother's name: Giovanna "Gina" DeLuca-owner of a film production company based in Manhattan. Father's name: Nicholas Ray Alden-location unknown at this time. Only child. Parents never married.

Fury continued reading the file and making minor changes to the "official" version. He saved the changes and got to his feet. Hands clasped behind his back, he roamed the periphery of the room until he came to the window. Looking down, he could barely make out details of the city below. When Barton returned to SHIELD for additional training while the college was closed for spring break, they would talk. This talk should be done now, but Fury made the decision to allow the situation to play out to its logical conclusion. And if that conclusion was something the SHIELD director didn't agree with, he would see to it that an alternate ending was created.

~~O~~

Naomi sat in her apartment staring at the cell phone lying in her lap. She wanted to call Clint, to hear his voice telling her that everything would be okay, that the person who had damaged her car would go to jail for a really long time. If he said it, she'd believe it.

Instead, she called the university and told them had a migraine and would be spending the day in a drug induced haze. Her stomach grumbled, but the thought of eating anything made her queasy. She appeased the organ with hot chocolate and turned on her computer to do more research. Only this research was of a much different nature. The Google homepage popped up and she typed in "stalking penalties New York."

After reading what the website had to say, she was even more depressed. The punishment for stalking wasn't nearly as severe as she would've hoped. _Maybe I should just let Clint kill him._

That thought was discarded immediately. She couldn't allow Clint to compromise his integrity to help her get revenge on some weirdo. But if he wanted to beat the guy up a little, just to teach him a lesson…

Pushing off the sofa, Naomi went into the kitchen, opened the freezer and took out the Ben and Jerry's ice cream. It was her favorite, Mud Pie, and hard to find so she savored every spoonful. Today was a three spoonful day.

Pulling the silverware drawer open, she grabbed a soup spoon, scooped out a big chunk and stuck it in her mouth. Leaving the drawer open, she wandered around the living room drawn to the patio again. She stood there staring at the spot where she'd seen the car that had looked like the occupant was watching her wondering if that had been her stalker or if it had been a coincidence. Maybe it had just been someone getting into his car when she happened to look out.

There was no way to know which it was so she just sighed heavily and went to sit on the sofa again, her sock covered feet on the coffee table as she slumped down until her butt hung off the edge of the cushion. As a girl, she had often done this causing her mother to order her to sit up straight. Then one day Mother hadn't had to remind her. As a result, she now had great posture. Except for today.

She came out of her musings when her spoon scraped the bottom of the container telling her she had just finished off two-thirds of a pint of ice cream. She'd have to run at least ten miles to get rid of the calories, but sometimes you just needed to indulge. Though, at the moment, she didn't really care if she ever moved again.

Getting to her feet, Naomi figured a nap would do the trick on a cold day spent indoors. She crawled into bed, pulled the covers up over her head and was out within minutes.

Hours later, she got up feeling much better about her situation. First order of business was making a pot of coffee. Then she decided to get some work done on her research. It wasn't due for a while yet, but it wouldn't hurt to at least get started. Going into the bedroom she realized she hadn't brought her materials from the car. Shoving her feet into her boots, she grabbed her jacket and left the apartment.

The sun was just going down as she reached the first floor and it made her nervous. Standing at the front exit, Naomi thought about waiting until Serene came home so they could go together, but her workaholic friend sometimes worked late and she didn't want to wait that long.

She'd put her hand out to push the door open when she was grabbed from behind. A blindfold was quickly tied around her eyes and a hand was clamped over her mouth when she tried to scream. The man was much stronger than she and though she fought, he dragged her relentlessly backward throwing her off balance to where she couldn't get leverage to get away.

Using his shoulder to push open the stairwell door, she realized through her panic that he was going to take her to the basement. With the boilers going, no one would hear her screaming.

"What the _hell!_ Let her go!"

Relief surged through Naomi at the sound of Donny's voice. There was a scuffle and the pressure disappeared. She fell onto her backside hitting her head on the floor. Her consciousness had started to sputter out when she felt someone pick her up, the movement making her dizzy. The blindfold was removed and with an effort, she focused on Donny's face swimming before her.

"Let's get her upstairs!" Serene's voice.

"We should call the police."

Donny's deep voice vibrated against her side and she realized that was he was carrying her. In her half-conscious state, she'd thought at first that it was Clint coming to save her. But that only happened in the movies. This was real life and she'd been attacked by someone who had meant to do her harm.

She managed to keep it together as Serene opened their door and Donny deposited her gently on the sofa. Her cheek hurt and felt wet. She touched the area, her fingers coming away with blood. Again Serene's face entered her vision, this time holding a washcloth. Gentle hands wiped the blood from her face.

Hands touched her and she started. "Sorry, babe. You've got a goose egg on the back of your head."

As soon as the cold hit her scalp the pain began to recede. Hopefully she didn't have a concussion. Serene took the water away then returned to sit next to her on the sofa, holding her hand, Donny hovering in the background. "Feel better?"

"Yeah. Thanks." She tried to sit up, but her friend held her in place.

"You should go to the ER."

The thought of being examined by a doctor rallied her indignation. "I'm fine! I'll just take a couple of Tylenol and lie down." She didn't see Serene and Donny exchange worried looks over her head. Serene got up, moving out of her line of sight. She heard soft murmuring then the slap of a flip phone being closed. "Please tell me you didn't call the police."

"I did _not_ call the police," Serene stated with sincerity. Seeing that Naomi was determined to get up, Donny helped her stand, the change in position sending a sharp pain to the back of her eyes.

"Good. My head hurts too much to give you a dirty look right now." Again Serene and Donny exchanged looks. "Okay, you two. Stop with the pathetic poor little Naomi faces. I'll be fine. I'll have some tea and promise to keep my cell phone with me just in case." Pounding on the door made her head throb even harder, but she ignored it as Donny went to answer it.

"Um, Naomi. I didn't call the police."

Naomi got a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach when her friend used that tone. "But…" There was no immediate response to her query. "Sere-ene! Who. Did. You. Call?"

"She called me."

Naomi had managed to keep her emotions in check and would have done so until she was alone. However, as soon as she heard Clint's tightly controlled voice and he came to take her in his arms, the flood gates opened. She found herself held tight against his chest as she cried.

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 14**

Clint scowled as the cell phone vibrated against his backside. He dug the offending device out of his back pocket and answered it with a gruff, "Yeah?"

"Clint? Serene."

His senses were immediately on alert, his left hand reaching for the Glock at the tone of her voice. "What is it?"

"Naomi. She…"

"What happened?" Taking long strides, he rushed into the bedroom, scooping up his boots as he went. He tucked the phone between he shoulder and ear as he pulled the boots on then carelessly pulled a change of clothes from the closet, tossing them on the bed.

"She was attacked. She's okay. A bump on the head, some bruises and scrapes," Serene rushed to reassure him. "But she won't go to the ER. Scared more than anything, I think."

Dragging his backpack from the floor, he shoved his books and classroom materials into it, zipped it up then stuffed his clothes in the gym bag he pulled from the shelf in his closet. "Do _not_ let her leave. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay."

"And Serene…"

"Yeah?'

He stopped his frantic movements. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Clint didn't hear her last response as he had already closed his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. Grabbing his jacket, he put it on, not bothering with gloves or his scarf even though the snow had begun to fall again. He snatched up his bag and backpack, set the alarm, slammed the door, engaged the locks and jogged to the stairs, taking them to the ground floor three at a time.

Ignoring traffic laws, he made the drive to Naomi's building in record time. Before getting out, he reached into his back waistband, removed the Glock, ejected the cartridge, replaced it and returned it to its place of concealment. He patted his pockets, feeling the comforting weight of additional mags. He also checked a few other places and was relieved to feel the shapes of the knives he kept on him at all times except when was at home.

At Serene's door, he pounded with the bottom of his fist, rattling the door and no doubt disturbing the neighbors. Well, too bad. Donny opened the door just as Naomi was demanding of Serene, "Who. Did. You. Call?"

Clint's bags thumped to the floor as he stepped inside the room and saw Naomi's bruised face. "She called me."

With those three words, Naomi, one of the strongest women he had ever known, broke down. He enfolded her in his arms and just let her cry, not caring that his shirt was getting soaked.

Over her head, he nodded his thanks to Naomi's friends. Serene opened Naomi's door and Donny followed him into the other apartment, dropping his bags in a chair and closing the door softly leaving Clint alone with the traumatized Naomi.

Naomi's arm was tight around his neck and though he didn't want to, he had to put her down. Going to the sofa, he bent his knees and set her down making sure her head was on a pillow. She barely moved, just sniffled.

Taking off his jacket, he tossed it away not caring where it landed. Opening her bedroom door, he took a moment to examine the only room he hadn't been in the last time he was here. The furnishings were well used, but also well cared for. Under normal circumstances, the color scheme would have been soothing, warm browns, golds, greens and oranges, the colors of fall. A handmade quilt lay folded on the foot of the bed. He snatched it up and returned to the other room when he heard the sofa creak as Naomi moved. He found her standing in the middle of the room looking lost.

"Hey."

She turned her head, her forehead crinkling as if she were trying to puzzle out why he was there. "Hey, yourself."

As he neared, he could see the tracks of tears already drying on her cheeks. Glancing around the room, he spied a box of tissues. She accepted the box, pulled two tissues out and used them to wipe her face and blow her nose.

"I'm a mess." Ducking her head so he couldn't see her, she scurried into the bathroom and shut the door quietly.

That didn't seem right to Clint. After being attacked, she should be furious. _He_ would be. Of course, he wouldn't have been caught by surprise either. Maybe a few self-defense lessons were in order. But they could wait until this was all over.

Clint began to pace, swinging his arms to the front hitting his right palm with his left fist then snapping his fingers. It made a pop-snap sound each time reminding him of a kid's show he had seen before his parents died. One of the main characters would perform the same motion when he was making a point or thinking. Clint had picked it up and had continued to do it long after the show had been canceled and faded from memory.

He heard water running in the tub. It would be a while before she came out. Going to the refrigerator, he saw left overs and microwave dinners. Not happy with either of those options, Clint used Naomi's landline to order a pizza. From what he could see, she hadn't eaten anything except the ice cream.

Taking out his cell, he hit redial for Serene. "Hey, it's Clint. I ordered a pizza. Would you…yes. Thanks again."

He went to the stove, setting water to boil. Searching her cabinets, he found an elegantly flowered teapot that matched the fine china set she had used to serve him coffee the other night. She only had tea bags so he hung three of the chamomile inside the teapot and poured the boiling water over them then replaced the lid. He found a tray made from a light colored wood, set the teapot and two cups on it and would have carried it to the coffee table if he had not heard Donny's discreet tapping at the door.

Taking out his wallet, Clint tried to pay the other man for the food, but was summarily turned down. He would have argued, but knew it would do no good so he did not waste the breath. The light under the bathroom door went out and a moment later, Naomi stepped out wearing flannel pajamas and socks.

She moved toward him with a smile on her face, going into his arms without hesitating. "Thanks for coming."

"I'm just down the street." When she shuddered in his arms, he knew she had put on a brave face for him. He used one finger to tilt her head up. "It's okay to admit you're scared."

The smile faded just a little, a small spark of fear in the depths of her eyes. "I've never _been_ so scared in my life. When I think what might've happened if Donny and Serene hadn't been there…"

Pressing her head onto his shoulder, he said, "Then _don't_."

"I'll try. Do I smell pizza and tea?"

"You do." He went to the kitchen returning with plates and napkins.

When they finished eating, he took everything to the kitchen, ran water in the sink and put the dishes in except for the tea service. It needed personal attention to prevent breakage so he would do that in the morning while he made coffee and breakfast. Back in the living room, he found Naomi yawning and trying to hide it. "Bedtime."

"Yeah. Thanks again. I'll walk you to the door then go get in bed."

"I'm not leaving."

~~O~~

"I'm spending every night right here until this guy is caught."

For some reason, his words scared Naomi though not in the same way that the stalker had. She wasn't sure how she felt about having him around all the time. Her life was fine the way it was. Work, play, occasionally dating. Yes, having him in her world was good, great even. But now she was being forced to think about more than just a few fun nights together.

"Come sit down. Please."

Naomi let him urge her over to the sofa. She sat down, but he didn't join her. Instead, he stayed on the opposite side of the coffee table as if using it as a buffer. "What is it?"

"What I have to say will probably upset you, and I'm sorry." He pushed a hand though his hair, a nervous gesture that he probably did not even notice. "I had Coul…_Phil_ do a background check on you, your co-workers, friends and acquaintances."

"What?! _Why?_"

"To find out who's stalking you. Chances are he's someone you know."

"He could have erotomania. It's the mistaken belief that another person loves them or needs rescuing from what they perceive as a negative relationship with another person. And…"

"And, if they can eliminate the competition, that will show them to be the superior mate and the 'affections' of the object of their desire will then turn to him or her. Considering your age, I would say your stalker is between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five. He's intelligent, but someone who blends into the background. He may be schizophrenic, have a delusional disorder or be bipolar. But something you said or did set him off. A smile or a word of encouragement, you could've even provided him with a bit of common courtesy that seems to be in short supply these days. There's no way to know.

"He was content to worship you from afar until he saw us together. Now he sees me as a rival. The man who is leading you astray from the relationship he thinks the two of you have."

What Clint said surprised Naomi. He spoke as if he had studied criminal profiling. She'd heard that he had demonstrated a profiling technique in one of his classes-she couldn't help but overhear them talking, the women especially. But what he'd just said was more like what she would hear from someone from the Behavior Analysis Unit, BAU of the FBI making her wonder exactly who Clint was. He was NOT your everyday college student, but she'd known that from the start. This just brought it home. Some of her peers in the psychology research department couldn't do what he just did.

He would've continued, but had apparently realized that he'd given too much away. "Sorry to interrupt. You were saying?"

"I was going to say thank you for coming to check on me and letting me cry it all out, but it's not necessary for you to stay. I'll be fine. Donny and Serene are right next door. They'll hear if anything happens."

Shifting his feet shoulder width apart and crossing his arms, Clint's response was short and to the point. "No."

"_No?_ What do you mean 'no'?"

"I'm _not_ leaving."

"But I _want_ you to _go_."

He scoffed. "Too damn bad." His expression determined, he pointed at the floor. "I'm staying here and there's nothing you can do about it."

That got her ire up. She shot off the sofa, skirting the end of the coffee table to stand in front of him. He was taller than her by only a few inches though she did have to tilt her head back to actually see his eyes. Eyes that had now taken on a steely glint. "_Excuse_ me? Are you refusing to leave my home?"

Clint cocked his head to side as if thinking it over then nodded. "Yeah. I am."

Naomi growled. "If you don't leave, I'll…"

"What? What will you do?" His expression changed to one of amusement when she opened and closed her mouth. He cupped a hand around his left ear. "Sorry. I didn't hear that."

Her head turned side to side looking for and finding her cell phone. She scooped it up and shook it at him. "I'll call the police," she stated with some smugness.

"And what'll you tell them?"

"That you forced your way in and won't leave."

Now _he_ was exuding smugness. And amusement. "Won't work. I have witnesses who'll corroborate my story that you granted access to your home voluntarily."

"Then I'll…I'll…Grrr! Clint Coulson, you are the most annoying, infuriating…"

"Don't forget maddening, irritating, exasperating…I'm certain there are a few other adjectives I'm missing."

Crossing her arms, Naomi turned her back on him. "You got that right. In fact, I'm thinking a few of them now, but I'm too much of a lady to say them out loud." She jumped when he put his arms around her, holding her tight. Not to keep her from getting away, but as if she were precious.

"Thank God."

She could hear the grin in just those two words, and suddenly, it all seemed like a game. A kind of pre-foreplay that would one day lead to the foreplay that would eventually lead to sex. But not tonight. She knew, and now she knew that _Clint_ knew, if they did make love tonight, it would shade that part of their relationship because they would be doing it to make them both feel better about the dangerous situation rather than it being the life affirming act it was meant to be.

Stepping out of his warm embrace, Naomi turned to smile up at him. "I'll make up the sofa then wash my face and brush my teeth before getting in bed."

Clint's grin turned to an affectionate smile. "I can do it. Where are they?"

"Hall closet."

"Great. I'll do that while you do your girly bathroom stuff."

That made her giggle. "Girly bathroom stuff?"

"Yeah. And when you're safely tucked into bed, I'll do my manly bathroom stuff."

At this moment, Clint was just so darn cute that she just had to show him. She moved close enough to press her hands to his ribs, sliding them up over the firm muscles of his chest, stopping to knead tops of his shoulders before skimming around his neck and urging his head down toward hers. It wasn't that hard as he was aiding and abetting her advance with one of his own.

Just like the night they had been interrupted-twice!-passion flared between them. Their lips and tongues again engaged in a struggle that fueled that passion. Thankfully, Clint managed to keep his head about him making certain she didn't lose hers.

He ended the kiss and took her by the hand to lead her into the bedroom where he pulled down the covers then settled them over her after she lay down. He switched out the light startling her by brushing the hair from her forehead and pressing a kiss to that spot.

~~O~~

Clint stuck his head into the bedroom to check on Naomi. She was on her side facing the door, her breathing slow and steady. Every few seconds she would twitch and whimper in her sleep.

Leaving the door ajar, he went out to the living room. Turning out the lights, he went to the patio doors and peeked out the side, but didn't see anything that looked hinkey. Moving to the other side, he performed the same check from the opposite viewpoint and still it all looked fine.

Taking the Glock from where he had hidden it while Naomi was in the bathroom, Clint again checked it out. Satisfied that he was as ready as he could be for whatever awaited them, he slid the weapon under his pillow, gave it a knife for company and took off his boots. He slept in his clothes in case he had to give chase. So tired he could've slept standing up, Clint soon dropped off, his dreams filled with memories of a time before the circus, before the orphanage when he'd been a part of a real family.

A woman with dark blond hair and no face spoke softly to him and his brother only to be interrupted by his father's harsh, alcohol filled voice complaining that his supper was cold or his shirts hadn't been ironed the way he liked or any number of things that seemed to annoy him more and more as the years went on. So much so, that if it hadn't been that his mother had died at the same time, his father's death would've been a source of joy for the Barton boys, and relief for any number of others who had crossed paths with William Barton. And it was always William. Never Will, Bill or Billy. Just William or Mr. Barton.

Hannah Barton, the mother that Clint had adored, morphed into his father, his hand upraised to smack him on the back of the head for some real or imagined wrong when a scream brought him instantly awake. He rolled off the sofa onto one knee, the Glock in his left hand, eye scanning the room for intruders.

The room was filled with shadows that held nothing but the night. He got to his feet and had just replaced the weapon under his pillow when the scream came again. _Naomi!_

Clint reached her door just as she jerked it open and fell into his arms, her fingers digging into his biceps. "What is wrong? Naomi!"

"Oh God! I-he-he…"

He drew her over to sit on the sofa, draping the blanket around her shoulders before kneeling in front of her. "Calm down. Take a few breaths and tell me what happened."

"I had a dream. He was standing over me with a knife, telling me that if he couldn't have me then no one would. Then he started…" she shuddered and he took both of her cold hands in his, holding tight. Naomi clenched her right hand as if holding a knife making sharp downward thrusts. "He stabbed me. Over and over and over. I-I tried to scream, but nothing would come out of my mouth and there was nothing I could do to defend myself. Clint, please tell me you'll get him. Even if you have to lie. Please."

Getting to his feet, he dropped onto the sofa next to Naomi, cuddling her close to his side. "I _will_ get him. And that is _not_ a lie." Naomi draped her left arm around his waist. He could still feel her shaking though it was better now. "Want some tea?"

"No. I just wanna go back to bed." At his urging, she returned to the bedroom and crawled back in bed. When he made to leave, she held onto his hand. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

There was nothing Clint wanted less at this moment than to be so close to her and not be able to have her, but he found himself agreeing anyway. He lifted the blanket. "I'll get in between the covers so you won't have to worry about me crossing the line."

The bed shifted as she rolled over onto her back, the covers pulled up to her chin. "Not worried. We're both adults and I trust you."

"What if _I_ don't trust me?"

"Then I'll just have to kick you to the curb and take my chances with the stalker."

Blowing out a puff of air, he gave in. "Fine. Wait. What if _you're_ the one who can't be trusted to keep her hands to herself?"

"You gonna call a cop?"

Lifting the covers, he slid under and lay on his back staring at the ceiling. "Hell no! I'm just gonna lay here and enjoy it."

He grunted in mock pain when she poked him with her elbow then shut off the lamp on her side. "Lights out, Coulson. I gotta be at the university early and _you_ have classes."

"And if I don't, are you gonna ground me?"

The bed shifted again as Naomi rolled over to cuddle into his left side, already falling asleep. "'Course not. Got better things I wanna do with you. Soon as we catch this creep."

"Good."

"I'm glad you're here. Please don't leave." And then she was out, the soft susurrations of her breathing pushing her chest against his side.

He turned out the other lamp, and the last thought in his mind before falling asleep was, "What did she mean by 'we'?"

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 15**

In the morning, Clint insisted on driving Naomi to the university and walking her to her office, his eyes never still, taking in everything, examining faces and glaring if someone he didn't know looked at her for more than a few seconds. It was sweet and embarrassing at the same time.

He'd wanted to stay at her side all day, but she finally convinced him that her work would be better served if she didn't have a body guard glaring at her subjects as if they were solely responsible for all that was wrong with the world.

What had happened that made him so guarded with those around him? And more importantly, what could she do to help him be more trusting? She supposed that in the line of work he had planned for himself, being paranoid was how one stayed alive.

Another thing she meant to ask him was why, if he knew what he wanted to do with his life, he hadn't enrolled in college before now. But she didn't think he would be as forgiving a second time.

"Good morning."

Naomi's head snapped up, a momentary sliver of fear winding its way through her until she saw who it was. "Oh! You startled me, Gary."

"Sorry."

Her research partner smiled self-consciously as he methodically took items from his desk and set them on top. The stapler here, the paperclips there, the lamp at a forty-five degree angle, no more, no less. Computer turned on, coffee cup cleaned and sanitized, lunch on the top shelf of the mini refrigerator and his tie tied just right. "Ready to get to work?"

"Of course." He picked up a pad and followed her to the lobby where subjects waited to be interviewed. Going to the sign-in sheet, she called the first name on the list, initialed in the box provided and included the time. She vaguely heard Gary calling out the next name, ignoring the goings on around her as she sank into her work.

Hours later, she looked up when someone called her name.

"Naomi?" The young woman who was paid a small wage to answer the phone part time stood in the doorway shifting from foot to foot, glancing over her shoulder and chewing her lip nervously.

"Yes, Sarah?"

"There's someone here to see you. A _man_." She said the word with shock and just a little awe. From the look in her eyes, it had to be Clint.

"You've talked to men before, haven't you?"

The girl twisted her hands together nervously. "Uh, of course. It is just that…he _is_ a man."

"Is he bothering you? 'Cause if he is, just ignore him."

"It's just that, well, a man has never come to see you before who wasn't part of the study or a faculty member."

The poor girl jumped when Clint appeared at her shoulder. He looked down at her giving her his most devastating smile and right before Naomi's eyes, the girl was smitten, her eyes going all dreamy when he said in a throaty rumble, "Thank you, Sarah. You don't mind if I call you Sarah, do you?"

"N-N-No, sir."

"Clint."

"Clint," she repeated dutifully before closing the door and returning to her desk.

When she was sure that Sarah was out of hearing, Naomi began to chuckle as she came around the desk to meet him. "_That_ was mean, working your incredible charm on that poor girl."

He shrugged, not at all repentant. "She seems like a nice girl, a little shy. I thought why not give her something interesting to write in her diary for a change."

"_Diary?_" Naomi had reached up to kiss him, pulling back in surprise before their lips could touch. "How old did you say you were?"

"Didn't say. Why?"

"Because girl in the computer age would be caught _dead_ with a diary. We write in journals with fancy cloth covers or post online."

"Oh. My mother kept a diary, so I thought…" he shrugged dismissing the idea. "Ready for lunch?"

Naomi picked up the phone. "Yes. Just let me tell Professor Ludwig I'm leaving."

While she talked, Clint took her coat from the wooden coatrack in the corner and held it out for her to slip into. She flipped her hair out of the collar, stuck her beret on, picked up her purse and preceded him out the door.

~~O~~

Watching Sarah go all dewy eyed, Clint felt bad for working his charm on her, but she had seemed so lost and so…bewildered was a good word, that he just had to do something to lift her spirits and all he could think of was to let her know that he found her appealing. Shy, she'd probably never had a guy look twice at her, and that was sad. Both for her and the men of this world because she was sweet, intelligent and the right man would bring those qualities out into the open where everyone would benefit.

Naomi told him that what he'd done was mean, but he didn't see it that way because, by the time they left her office, he would-hopefully-have changed the course of her life at least a little.

He'd come here today-and would every day-in the hopes that the stalker would see them and come after him instead of Naomi, but before he left, he had one more thing to do. At the door, he touched Naomi on the arm. "Be right back."

"Okay."

Sarah's desk squatted in a corner of the lobby. Clint thought the university could've at least gotten her something that didn't look like it had been found on the side of the road and just repainted to match the décor. He let go of that thought as he came around the desk to perch on the edge, motioning her close, and leaning down to whisper in her ear. What he said startled her at first then she smiled and it changed everything about her. She sat up straighter, determination coming over her features making her look even prettier. He spoke again and she nodded in response, the smile growing as he gave her shoulder a confident squeeze before returning to Naomi's side. Pushing the door open, Clint followed Naomi out into the cold. November in New York was more than a little chilly. He held Naomi's hand and shoved the other deep into his pocket.

"What did you say to her?"

He gave her a careless shrug. "Can't say."

"'Cause then you'd have to kill me?"

"Exactly."

She scoffed, removing her hand from his to hold onto his elbow. "Really?"

"Yes. Not that I'd want to, you understand. It's in the carny's handbook."

"Okay, smarty pants, where in this alleged handbook does it say that?"

One side of his mouth lifted in wry humor. He had seldom been bested in friendly banter. "Page forty-nine, paragraph seven, subsection three point five states that anyone overhearing privileged communication between a carny and a mark must be terminated with extreme prejudice. Turn to page three ninety-seven for definition and details."

And just as he had hoped, she laughed out loud. He loved the way her laugh sounded. It filled him with an emotion that he had yet to define making him wish his life had been less like it had been and more the way it _should_ have been. But then he wouldn't be who he was today and most likely wouldn't be working toward becoming a part of an organization whose existence was unknown to most of the world and disavowed by the rest. Clint put those thoughts away in a corner of his mind for now and moved on to the task set before him.

Though he'd never been one to engage in public displays of affection, he and Naomi had talked about it as a means of changing the stalker's target from her to him. And though he was uncomfortable with it he was resolute. He wanted to catch this guy as much as Naomi did. Not because he had the need to be the hero, but because it was important that Naomi not be harmed in any way.

To that end, when in public, they would act like a couple very much in love and wanting the world to know it. He just hoped that by the time the guy was out of her life he would be able to walk away with his heart intact.

~~O~~

While Clint was checking on his apartment and gathering clean clothes, Serene and Donny were keeping Naomi occupied playing Uno. It wasn't their favorite game, but it served its intended purpose as a distraction.

It had been days since the attack on her best friend and Serene was almost as nervous as Naomi. And not just about the stalker situation. Donny had asked her to move in with him. They spent most of their time in the evenings together at one or the other's places and it just seemed natural that they take this step. Serene was seriously thinking of saying yes, but she wanted to talk it over with Naomi first. In order to do that, she would have to get rid of Donny. But how to do that?

Serene needn't have worried. Naomi had sensed that her friend wanted to talk and had made an excuse to send the corporate attorney out for a while. And Donny, being a gentleman in spite of his profession, was more than happy to oblige. The door had barely closed behind Donny when Naomi said, "Okay. Out with it. What is going on between you two?"

~~O~~

It was night though not late. Snow had fallen again during the day, most of it melting, turning a blanket of white into a dirty, slushy mess. Temperatures would be staying above freezing for the night so it was likely that there would be more of the same come morning.

But Clint didn't care about the weather. What he did care about was that they hadn't heard from the stalker since Naomi had been attacked. The injuries she had sustained were mostly gone, but she still had trouble sleeping if he wasn't at least in the apartment. Some nights she slept soundly. Others, not so much. On those nights, Clint would let her use him as a security blanket. And if he were to be truthful, with himself at least, he was coming to enjoy those nights.

Each night they slept in the same bed made him want her more. On the sofa for the night, it was the same. He reigned in his wants and desires, holding onto to them with an iron hand, not wanting Naomi to think he would ever take advantage of her. If she thought otherwise, she wouldn't have allowed him to stay with her and hold her.

The times that he had actually spent on the sofa were few, and he had slept badly, like tonight. He missed her touch, her warmth and the total trust she displayed by allowing him to share her bed without wondering if he would cross the line. Trust in _him_. She'd said on many occasions that she trusted him and he wouldn't make her regret doing so. Circumstances would come along soon enough that would interfere with what they had and he wanted to put that off as long as possible. He knew she wouldn't want to be with him once she found out the true nature of the "family" business and his part in it.

As he'd done in the past, those thoughts were relegated to that dark corner of his mind where so many things waited to be taken out and examined. One of those crawled out of the dark, waving a hand, begging to be noticed. When he saw what it was, he tried to kick it away, but it persisted. And what it was scared him more than anything.

Voices in the hall instantly alerted all of Clint's senses, the Glock appearing in one hand and the knife in the other. He crept to the door with his gun hand held behind him as he eased the door open and thumbed the safety off. The knife he slipped into his back pocket.

A few doors down, a group of people were leaving, their voices loud and echoing as they waited for the elevator. He sagged in relief when they were finally gone and all was quiet again, until he heard an indignant Naomi behind him.

"Where did you get _that?_"

There was no way Clint could mistake what she was talking about or even play it off as her imagination because her eyes stayed glued to the Glock as he held it up in front of him. Humor often diffused a tense situation so… "This old thing? I've had it for _years._"

"You're making _jokes?_ I can't believe you brought a _gun_ into my home."

"Didn't."

"What is that in your hand?"

Clint engaged the safety and set the Glock on the table to his left behind a small silk potted plant. "It's _a_ gun. Singular. I have _guns_ with me. Plural."

"As in more than one?"

"Yes." He lifted his left pant leg to show her the Ruger strapped to his ankle. "And I have a knife."

Naomi's mouth dropped open then snapped shut. The fire in her brown eyes might have frightened a lesser man. "A knife?!"

"Well, three. Four if you count the penknife, which I don't because it's only…" he faltered when she just stared at him. "I said I'd keep you safe and need to have easy access to weapons in order to do it."

"But why would you even _have_ guns and all those knives in the first place? What _are_ you? Some kind of superspy?"

Her angry, offhand assessment of his profession tripped him up, but just for a moment. He let out a long, silent breath and inhaled again, letting the battle ready stance soften just a little. "I'm the same man I was a few minutes ago when you didn't know I was armed." Taking a step closer, he stopped without touching her, knowing it wouldn't be accepted. Not now. "Look, I'm sorry. But there are things about me that I may never be able to tell you." Lifting one hand, he tentatively touched her shoulder.

Naomi dipped her shoulder to make him let go, turning to face him, her expression now a blank mask. "And if I can't accept it, you'll _leave?_ Find some other girl and break _her_ heart too?"

_Too? What is she trying to say?_ Thoughts and emotions swirled around in his mind, finally settling to show him a picture. It was not complete, but for once, he didn't pull away from it. "No. How could I when…"

What he had been about to say was lost and completely forgotten when a loud explosion came from the street below. Out of instinct, he scooped up the Glock as he dived at Naomi bearing her to the floor and covering her with his body, ducking his head and covering it with his arm for protection.

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 16**

The apartment's windows stayed intact from the blast, though Clint wasn't sure how. When the shaking stopped, he carefully raised his head to look around, hearing falling glass, car alarms and people shouting. Some in fear. Others in anger. Still more in shock.

"Clint?"

He responded in a distracted voice. "Yeah?"

"Would you _please_ get off of me?"

Looked down, he realized that their position was incredibly intimate and a slow grin crept over his face. "I kinda like it. You and me like this."

"Yes, it's very nice and I hate to burst your bubble, but the cops'll be here soon. So maybe we should go see whose car that was."

"Oh. Right." Getting to his feet, he reached down to bring her up beside him. "You okay?"

"I feel like someone dropped a house on me, but other than that, I'm fine. What happened?"

As he neared the patio, he heard the whine of emergency vehicles. He slid the door open and stepped out with Naomi at his side, his stomach plummeting when he saw his beloved pick-up fully engulfed in flames. "Oh, crap."

"You think it was the stalker?"

"Yes. If I'd known he'd go this far, I would've hunted him down instead of making him come to us. Until he attacked you, I didn't really think he was dangerous." Clint turned from the devastation. "I better go talk to them. And when I find that creep…"

"You're not gonna hurt him, are you?"

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling as if weighing his options and the consequences of each. "A little." She gave him a perfect "oh puh-lease" making him grin. "Okay, a lot."

"Good. I'll get dressed and come with you."

"No." Hands on her hips, she glared at him and he fought a grin at the picture she presented. Her hair sleep tousled and eyes bright with indignation as she geared up for a fight. "What I meant to say is it's not necessary. I can take care of it. Go on to bed and I'll be back soon."

"Why don't you go make your report while I get a pot of decaf going?"

Clint nodded. "I'll take it."

Nodding, Naomi's glare turned to a grin. "You might wanna leave _that_ here."

His hand went automatically to where he had shoved the Glock into his waistband. "I have a carry permit." He grabbed his jacket and put it on as he went out the door.

"A _carry_ permit? What the…"

"Lock the door and don't open it for anyone but me. Not even Serene or Donny." He shut the door on her invective, jogged to the end of the hall and hustled down the stairs to the first floor. Clint took his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open to the concealed badge, holding it up. He was met by a plainclothes middle-aged detective standing just inside the yellow tape. "Special Agent Clint Barton, FBI. That is-_was_ my vehicle."

The detective stuck out his hand and Clint gave it a quick two pumps before letting go. "Detective Alvin Brooks. The ol' one-two."

Clint watched the bomb squad swarming over what was left of his truck. The family hadn't given him the vehicle. He'd purchased it himself having saved every paycheck the entire time he had been in training. SHIELD had provided room and board, and for someone who had nothing for so long, it was more than enough to get by. His apartment and other living expenses were on them as well.

Brooks wore a long dark coat that had seen better days, none of them in this decade and a ball cap with the Yankees logo on the front. He had a legal sized pad he was writing information on, scribbling as fast as the officers could recite the statements from the witnesses. "So what's the deal here, Barton? Someone got it in for ya?"

The man was intelligent and well educated, yet he went to great lengths to persuade those he met otherwise to throw them off, to give himself an edge. There was more, but Clint did not feel up to reciting the particulars for his own benefit. "Could be. I'm undercover at the university as a student under the name Clint Coulson."

"Oh? We haven't been informed that the feds were operatin' on our turf."

"It's informal. More to check into the validity of intel we've received. I assure you, if we were in full investigative mode, you would've been brought in."

"And if there _is_ somethin' there?"

Knowing that his smile could be disarming even to his own gender, Clint used it now. "Then I'll call you personally, Detective." Brooks didn't seem to be impressed. Clint turned to watch the bomb squad gather evidence while the police officers took statements. One of the investigators came over and conferred quietly with Brooks who then nodded at Clint.

"Special Agent Barton, this is Lieutenant Ang of the Strategic Response Unit."

An Asian man in a black uniform came forward carrying what looked like a jumble of wires and electronics. "Know something about bombs, Agent?

"I'm not an expert, but I can follow along."

"Okay. Well this baby here's your detonator."

Clint nodded. "So you'll be able to track down the perp?"

"Only if he _or_ she left fingerprints. This you can buy in any department store." When Clint gave him a skeptical glance, he elaborated. "It's from a remote control car. Thousands of 'em in just a ten mile radius."

"How was it rigged?"

"Now that is the clever part, or not, depending on the perp's ultimate goal." Ang gestured for Clint and Brooks to follow, leading them to the burned out chassis of the truck. "If this was a message, then it was perfect. If he wanted to blow your a** to kingdom come, not so much. It was set off by a specific frequency, like a car alarm or two-way radio. Since it went off in the middle of the night, then it could be either/or, but was probably done by accident."

The three men spent a long time talking about the bomb that had blown up his truck. Knowing that it could've been set off at any time created a pool of fear in Clint that was at once strange and familiar. If _he_ had died, it would've been no great loss to the world. But if Naomi had died… He wasn't certain he would've been able to live with himself. These thoughts weren't rational, and Naomi would be the first to say so, but that didn't stop them from beating their heads against the inside of his skull.

Clint couldn't handle the cold any longer and he'd been promised hot coffee with a beautiful woman who was probably asleep by now. He took a card from his wallet, passing it to Brooks. "You guys need me anymore?"

"Naw. We got it." Brooks had already dismissed him, turning back when Clint tapped his shoulder.

"Here is my number. Call when you find something." Clint used the no-nonsense voice all Feds seemed to employ to get what they wanted when they wanted it.

Brooks stared at the card in Clint's hand for so long, the archer thought he wouldn't take, but then he did, tucking it into his breast pocket. "Right."

Jogging toward the building, Clint chastised himself for being gone so long. What would Naomi be thinking? _Some body guard you are, Barton. You forgot about her. Now get your a** upstairs and do your job!_

~~O~~

Naomi locked the door after Clint then started the coffee. She wanted so much to go down and see first-hand what was going on, but knew she would get a lecture from her self-appointed guardian that she was too tired to listen to.

She sat down on the sofa and pulled the blanket around her. Clint had only slept in the living room twice in the days that he'd been here, yet it still retained his scent. Clean, like the forest after a rain, even after running five miles in the sun. And just knowing he was somewhere nearby made her feel safe. That the man after her would just disappear as if he had never been. Problem solved.

Laying her head on the pillow, she curled up facing the door so she could see Clint when he came in. When she slid her hand under the pillow, she encountered cold metal. Holding it to the light, she saw that it was one of those military-issue knives. It was all black, the handle rubberized and the blade had to be seven inches long. "How can he sleep with that AND a gun under his head?"

Tossing it on the table, she closed her eyes and waited for Clint to return.

~~O~~

Clint let himself back into Naomi's apartment in as quietly as possible. He knew that the last week or so had been a strain on him, but it had to be even worse for her, and he was right. She'd fallen asleep on the sofa and the way she was curled in on herself, she had to be cold. He took a blanket from the hall closet, unfolded it and spread it over her, taking care to tuck it up around her neck. She stirred then settled again as he brushed a few hairs from her face, his fingertips lingering on her cheek for a moment.

He took off his jacket, tossing it in the chair on his way to the kitchen. The coffee smelled so good, and he knew it would help dispel the chill in his bones. He drank down the first cup quickly, poured a second and carried it over to the chair where he sat and watched Naomi sleep wondering how she had become so important to him and he hadn't even seen it coming.

She wasn't the first woman that Clint had been attracted to, but she was the first in over a year that he'd allowed to see any of the hidden parts that had gone into making up the man known as Clint Barton, the Amazing Hawkeye. And therein lay one of his problems. She knew him as Clint _Coulson_ and aside from their trips to the archery range together and that day in the rotunda with Alston, she had no idea what he was capable of or what he was being trained to do.

There was something else he had learned while studying the art of seduction, though he had forgotten about it until he'd met Naomi. It was just something the shrink had said about one-night stands versus a long-term relationship.

_Sexual attraction is only one facet of the romantic experience__._

He didn't even remember the doctor's name, but these weeks with Naomi had shown him the wisdom, and in the process he had fallen in love with her. He knew it, but had been unable to tell her. And maybe that was for the best.

A quick glance out the window made his blood boil as he realized he would have been _in_ the truck with Naomi later that day. Did he really want to tell her he loved her with the danger to her life from this stalker? Or was it best to keep things as they were?

Unfortunately, he had no idea what to do. His work in SHIELD meant he would be gone for long periods of time, but the thought of Naomi waiting for him gave him a reason to come home alive. Still, he knew what Coulson would say and would rather not hear it.

Kicking off his boots, Clint got into bed leaving the side where Naomi normally slept empty. In just a few days he had gotten used to sharing a bed with someone else…with _her_. And he was more than certain he didn't want to go back to the way things had been. Him alone in a bed meant for two, sleeping yet his dreams so vivid, so frightening sometimes that he would wake up in a cold sweat unable and unwilling to go back to sleep.

And that reminded him that the first night he had been close to her, that she had given him her trust, had been the first time in years that he had slept through the night.

Now that he had a taste of what it was like to be "normal," the thought of going to work full time for SHIELD didn't have the same appeal it had when he'd been coerced into this situation. Not the situation with Naomi, but here in this place where he had met the first woman to whom he wanted to give his full unconditional trust…and his heart.

In the morning, he awakened to find Naomi curled up next to him. Sighing contentedly, he wrapped his arms around her warmth and dozed off again.

~~O~~

The sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains fell across Naomi's face slowly bringing her to wakefulness. She tried to move, but the band around her waist tightened keeping her in place. Her right hand caressed the back of Clint's arm from wrist up to elbow and back making his fingers flex in his sleep. Moving just her eyes, she located the clock, the red numbers telling her she was late. She threw the covers off and smacked Clint on the side.

"Wh-whass wrong? What I do?"

"Let me up! I forgot to set the alarm and we're late!"

His head came off the pillow at her agitated ramblings and he scrambled off the bed. As always, he had slept in his clothes. "Sorry. Sorry. I'll…"

A calendar hung next to the bookcase in the corner. He squinted at it as she flung open the closet door and started searching for something to wear.

She pulled away when he tried to take her hand. "What're you doing? I have to…"

"Relax, Naomi. It is Saturday. No work. No classes."

Sagging in relief, she went into his arms, her head and hands on his chest. "I thought…never mind." They stayed just like that until another thought occurred to her. "Was I dreaming or did your truck really get blown up last night?"

"Not a dream, unfortunately."

"Can I see it?"

"The city probably had it towed by now." They went into the living room together, Clint opened the door and they stepped out to slightly warmer temperatures than the day before. "Yeah, it's gone. The tape is still up though."

"I looked out a couple of times. It was a _mess._" He gave her a pointed look. Part anger and part frustration. "Yeah, I know. You told me to stay inside and lock the door. Blah, blah, blah."

"It was for your own protection."

Naomi smacked the top rail encircling the patio, turned and went back inside. She heard the door slide shut and the lock engage. "I know, but I'm _tired_ of this. Can we just find the guy and get it over with?"

"We don't know who he is. And unless the investigators find something that will give us a name or a lead, there's nothing more we can do."

"Fine. I'll start the coffee and make us something to eat."

"Oh, _no._" He got a teasing glint in his blue-gray eyes. "I've _seen_ your idea of 'cooking.' _I_ will make breakfast, or rather lunch while _you_ get dressed."

She sighed as if it would be a hardship. "_Fine._ And after we eat, you can take a shower."

Clint made a big show of sniffing himself. "You don't like the scent of burned rubber in the morning?"

"It's _afternoon_. And no."

"O-oh. Picky, picky!"

"Hush!" Naomi shut the bedroom door on his chuckle.

~~O~~

Clint washed, dried and put away the dishes then wandered over to lean in the bedroom doorway watching Naomi work. She was sitting with her legs crossed in the chair, a pencil clenched in her teeth as she typed on the computer, stopping now and then to make notes on the papers scattered around her. Some had fallen on the floor though she didn't seem to notice.

"You just gonna stand there staring?"

"Hadn't planned on it, but you were busy."

She chuckled. "Always busy. And I don't mind if you interrupt now and then."

"I'll have to remember that." She leaned down to pick up the papers from the floor and he rushed to help her.

He returned her smile of thanks then rolled his eyes when she said, "Don't you have homework you should be doing?"

"Yeah." He put his mouth close to ear, whispering, "But I would rather watch you."

"As nice as that sounds, you're distracting me, so…" she fluttered one long fingered hand haughtily, "…be gone, peasant."

Instead of leaving, he got down on one knee, pulled her hair aside and began kissing along her neck. "I distract you?

Naomi's hands stilled on the keyboard, fingers curling into her palm. "Mmm. You sure do."

"Good. Because you distract me, too."

She turned the chair to face him and he pounced on the opportunity to kiss her. Her hands twisted in the material of his shirt while his own skimmed up and down her back. And when she hooked her heels around his back to bring them closer, his moan of delight was echoed by her.

He was just about to make his move when the computer beeped startling them both. Reluctantly, he backed off as she pushed the hair from her face. "Sorry. I really need to get that. Being away from work put us behind and the university will be wanting an update on the research in a few weeks.

"No problem. As you said, I do have homework to keep me busy."

She kissed him one more time then returned to what she had been doing when he had come in.

Spreading his books and papers out on the dining room table, he made a mental note to ask to use her computer so he could finish the American Lit paper that was due to serve as his mid-term exam. What his grade would be was uncertain though to go by the vibes he received in class, it should be fairly high. Geometry? Easy A. History? On the fence. Philosophy? He wouldn't hold his breath for an A, or even a B.

His hearing, sharp at all times and even more so now, caught the soft undertone of sock covered feet on carpeting a moment before Naomi sauntered past on her way to the kitchen. He returned to his reading, jerked back to his own century by the sound of a pissed off female voice.

"You drank all the coffee!"

"Sorry." Clint continued to scribble on the pad under his left hand while his right traced the pertinent paragraph in the textbook until he sensed Naomi standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. She was holding the empty coffee pot. "What?"

"There's a _rule_. The person who takes the last of the coffee either brews a new pot or at least gets it ready for the next person.

Clint's forehead crinkled uncertainly. "I've never heard that rule."

"It's an _unwritten_ rule."

"And I was supposed to know this how?"

She sputtered with feigned outrage. "You just are!"

"If you want me to make more coffee, just say so. I can't read minds."

Her snort made him grin. "Whatever. I'll make the coffee. But it's your turn the next two times."

"Deal." Again Clint returned to the Crusades. He'd just completed the paper he would type into the computer, edit and spellcheck before printing so it would be ready to turn in next week as Naomi came out of the bedroom. She was holding his Glock between two fingers as if it were something nasty.

"Why is this in my room between the mattress and box spring?"

"So I'd have easy access during the night." She continued to glare. "What? Would you rather I kept it under my pillow?"

"No. But you could've removed it once you were up." She laid it on the table next to him, took a few steps then returned with a contemplative gleam in her eyes. That gleam turned wicked. "Can I ask you something?"

Throwing the pencil down, Clint leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in anticipation of the annoyance he would feel. "Go ahead. As long as it's one I can answer."

"This is an easy one. You keep charging in to save the day like a Wild West sheriff on horseback. Well, I have one question." This time when she picked up the Glock, she held it as it was meant to be held, turning it this way and that, taking care not to point it at him and seeming to have changed her opinion on what the presence of the weapon might mean. "Does it come with a thigh holster, cowboy?"

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 17**

A slow grin came over Clint as he got to his feet and trapped Naomi against the wall, one hand on either side of her. "What did you have in mind?" His left hand slowly took the Glock from her and set it on the table.

Her grin matched his and included an eye roll. "_Not_ what you're thinking. At least not yet."

"But until then think about this." He put his lips close to her ear, "I spent _years_ with the circus and know lots of…tricks."

Intrigued, she said, "Wanna share?"

He moved fractionally closer. "Not yet, but I'll give you a hint. Some of them involve the use of a trapeze."

Lifting her hands, she folded them around his arms just below the biceps, sliding up to the shoulders feeling his muscles flex. The moment she framed his face with her hands, the color of his eyes darkened, and she knew that her own were answering that call, her body becoming soft and pliant, wanting him to show her what he knew. "Mmm. I know a few tricks myself."

The last word was hardly out of her mouth before he had covered it with his own. Naomi's hands clenched in his hair, pulling at the strands, though he didn't seem to notice. She didn't know how touching his hair and only his lips against hers could make her feel more alive than she had in a long time, but she _liked_ it!

Clint bent his arms bringing first his chest then his hips into contact with hers pressing her up against the wall as their tongues once more engaged in that age old battle. His hands left the wall to hold her hips still when she rubbed against him with the predictable result making him groan.

Her world spun in crazy circles and the next thing she knew, they were on the sofa make out like teenagers. She tugged at his shirt, trying to pull it from the waistband of his jeans when they were startled into immobility.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

"Not again!" Naomi groaned in exasperation this time.

Clint murmured the words, "Ignore it," against her mouth, almost panting. But their visitor wasn't giving up. The knocking continued then turned to pounding making the door shake. Lifting up onto one elbow, he shouted, "Whoever you are, someone had better be DEAD 'cause if they're not, they _will be_!"

~~O~~

Again the pounding, louder this time. Clint got to his feet, reaching the door in three long strides and yanking it open. "What the _hell_ do you _want?_"

Completely unfazed as usual, Coulson smiled innocently at the archer. "Did I interrupt something?" A sound like a growl came from Clint's throat before he could stop it. Taking in Clint's tousled hair and untucked shirt with a grin, Coulson looked to the right, catching a glimpse of Naomi disappearing into the bathroom, the slamming of the door making him wince. "Really? Making out on the couch. What are you, sixteen?" Clint continued to pierce him with his gaze. "If you crack the windows, they won't fog up."

From inside the bathroom, Naomi's voice was heard cutting off Clint's sharp retort. It had an edge that Clint didn't like as it didn't bode well for their visitor. "_Tell him to go away!_"

Clint lowered the volume of his voice, but the growl stayed. "Stay here!" Going to the bathroom, he leaned close to the door softening his tone. "I'm sorry Naomi, but I can't send him away."

"_Why not?_"

"He's sorta my boss." The door was flung open so fast that Clint had to step back or be hit.

"Your _boss?_ You said he was your _cousin._" Clint gave her a sheepish shrug opening his mouth to respond, cut off again by an oath.

"He's sort of both." That crease she got between her eyes when she was confused and annoyed appeared. Clint wanted to back up knowing an eruption was imminent. That thought brought him up short. How had he come to know her so well?

"What the _hell_ do you do?"

The anger in her eyes scared him just a little. He shook his head. "You do _not_ want to know!"

Coulson cleared his throat to remind the couple he was still in the room with them. Clint turned his head sharply. "What do you _want_, Phil?!"

The teasing grin was gone from Coulson's face. "We need you to come home, Clint. (I have orders to bring you in.)

Understanding shone in Clint's eyes, his whole attitude changing as he continued with the agreed upon code. "Can't. I have mid-terms. (Confirm)

"Uncle Nick wants to see you. (Fury's orders)

"Can we get a flight out tonight?" (Understood)

Coulson nodded gravely, as if they really were talking about a stricken family member. "Yes. Our plane leaves at seven. You have just enough time to go home and pack. Plan to stay at least four days." (The private airport, hangar seven-four)

"Of course." (Message received)

"I'll wait for you in the car." (Don't be long)

Clint nodded and shut the door behind Coulson, leaning against it, not wanting to tell Naomi that he had to go and leave her unprotected. He waited until Coulson's footsteps faded then faced Naomi who was standing in the middle of the living room trying to look mad, but failing miserably.

"I guess he really _is_ your cousin." She looked everywhere but at him.

"I'm sorry, but…"

Crossing her arms, Naomi took a deep breath and let it out. "No, it's fine. I just…What if _he_ comes back?"

Clint went to her, gently gathering her into his arms. "I'll _never_ let anything happen to you." He kissed her temple. "Lock the door behind me. I'll be right back."

"Where're you going?"

At the door he flashed her a grin, his eyebrows lifting briefly. "Every hero needs a sidekick. Sometimes two."

~~O~~

The door closed behind him and Naomi wanted to scream. Instead, she went into the bedroom and brought the computer out of power saver mode. Her files were still open so she was able to pick up where she left off.

Clint returned a few minutes later. "I gotta go just for a while, but either Serene or Donny will be with you twenty-four seven until I return."

"But…"

He went to her side and perched on the corner of the desk taking her left hand with his. "Please, just this once do as I say." The front door opened and Serene called out to them. Using his right hand to brush the hair from her forehead, he let his fingertips graze her cheek before kissing her good-bye. At the bedroom door, he stopped with one hand on the doorframe. "Naomi?"

"Yeah?"

"I…" It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her he loved her, but he couldn't do it. Not like this. She deserved flowers and candlelight and champagne and the words "I love you" softly whispered into her ear after a night of making love. Not a hurried "love you" as he ran out the door on one of his it-can't-wait missions. When he came back, he would say it the right way. For now, it would have to be, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

As he passed Serene, he paused, digging in his pocket and handing her a card. "If _anything_ out of the ordinary happens, you see someone watching the apartment or if it just doesn't feel right to you, call Detective Brooks. Tell him…Just say ten thirty-one and your address."

Serene nodded and a moment later, Clint was out the door. He waited until he heard the locks engage before jogging to the stairwell. Less than a minute later he was in the passenger seat of Coulson's car and they were headed for the airport. From there they would be taken to the helicarrier where Clint would be brought before the head of SHIELD.

**A Few Hours Later**

Clint stood in front of Fury's desk because he hadn't been invited to sit. Standing behind and to one side, Coulson waited.

Fury turned the pages of the "official" report of the bombing of Clint's truck with the occasional glance at the archer to gauge his reactions. The young man wasn't nervous. Good.

"Agent Barton, do you have reason to believe this was directed at you?"

"Yes, sir. Naomi is being stalked. He may see me as the competition and decided to take me out. We're just lucky the bomb didn't go off when it was supposed to or both she and I would be dead."

Narrowing the eye not covered by the patch, Fury asked, "Naomi?"

"Ms. DeLuca, sir. She's a friend. You may recall that I requested a background check on her, her family, friends and acquaintances."

"As a matter of fact I do." Giving nothing away of what he was thinking, Fury continued with the questioning. "In your opinion, what is the best course of action?"

"Stay close, keep Naomi-Ms. DeLuca safe, find the guy, and neutralize him. Permanently, if necessary."

"But _only_ if necessary." Barton knew what he was doing, but it never hurt to state the obvious.

~~O~~

Clint's fists clenched at his sides at the thought that Naomi might be hurt or even killed while he was too far away to stop it. He clasped his hands behind his back when Fury saw his uncontrolled reaction. "Of course." There was another long pause during which Fury just stared at him. "May I go now, sir?"

Another pause, not as long this time. "Yes."

As Clint walked out of Fury's office, he got the feeling that more had been going on than appeared on the surface. When he mentioned Naomi, Fury's expression had changed. Not much, but enough to see that it had been Clint's familiarity that had caused the reaction. He considered asking Coulson, but decided against it.

The voice of flight control came over the PA. "_Tango seven Hotel Juliet will depart in five minutes. All passengers to the aft docking bay._"

Breaking into a jog, Clint headed for the docking bay and his ride back to New York City…and back to Naomi. He'd wanted to check in with Natasha, to talk to her about his situation, but there wasn't time. Strapping himself in, he thought about his life and all the things he'd done that, if given the chance, he would do differently. He'd change the death of his mother and his estrangement from his brother. The only thing he wouldn't change was meeting and falling in love with Naomi DeLuca.

~~O~~

It was early evening and Donny sat in Naomi's living room surrounded by work as was Naomi in the bedroom. He could hear the tap-tap-tap of her keyboard with the occasional mutter of annoyance and frustration. As long as she was making noise, she was okay.

Serene had left a few minutes ago after cleaning up the mess from dinner. Tomorrow it would be his turn to cook because Clint had ordered them not to accept deliveries of any kind while he was gone. She complained to Naomi about her kitchen being rearranged and Naomi had gotten all tongue-tied, shrugging self-consciously. Donny's guess was that it had been Clint who had made the change to suit himself which spoke of a deeper relationship than the two of them being just friends and him being here only for her protection. He'd seen it coming, of course, as had Serene, and they wished the best for both of them.

From what Clint had said, he could be gone for up to a week. Well, that would work out just fine for him because Thanksgiving was coming up and he'd planned on taking the entire week off anyway. And he would spend it right here if it meant keeping his friend safe.

Getting to his feet, Donny stretched, yawned and rubbed his lower back on the way to the bathroom. But first he stuck his head in to check on his charge. "Everything okay in here?"

"_Fine_. Just like the last four or five times you asked." She was irritated and didn't mind letting him, or anyone else, know. Not that he blamed her with everything that had been going on.

"Sorry to be a pest, but Clint will skin me alive if I let anything happen to you."

Naomi thumped her elbows on the desk and dropped her head into them. "I'm sorry I snapped, Donny. Tired, I guess. I just want this to be over."

"I know. That man of yours seems confident that he'll catch the guy."

Given the chance to defend "her man," Naomi perked up. "Yes, he _will_."

"I'm going in the bathroom. Do _not_ leave while I'm in there."

"I won't," she stated unequivocally. Donny pulled the door shut again leaving it open just a crack then went into the bathroom. He was out in just a few minutes and was about to go back to preparing briefs when Naomi came out of the bedroom carrying her shoes. "I need some things from the store, Donny. Drive me?"

"Of course." They went next door to tell Serene then down to Donny's Lexus.

~~O~~

The beep of an incoming email disturbed Naomi's train of thought. That train had been on a track that she'd avoided for years. Now she knew there had been a reason she had been so reserved with other men, exuding a don't-touch-me vibe. She'd been waiting for God to bring Clint into her life.

The day she'd seen him standing in the middle of the rotunda, peering at the map of the campus then looking around in confusion, she'd known that speaking to him was the right thing to do. Not that she had a choice in the matter. She'd been compelled by something outside of herself to speak to him. Running into him at the food court-literally-had been chance. And when he spoke to her in the park, well, it just had to be fate that kept throwing them together.

Now here she was in love with the man she had befriended just a few short weeks ago. Had it really been only three months? She counted in her head. Yup. Three months.

Thanksgiving was next week and that meant she'd be at her mother's for at least four days. Four _long_ days without Clint. She'd thought about asking him to come to dinner with her on Thursday, but didn't think he would be amenable to the suggestion. However, if _he_ brought it up…and that reminded her that she needed some things from the store. She grabbed her purse and shoes on the way to the living room.

~~O~~

Serene stood over the sofa and coffee table strewn with Donny's paperwork. She didn't pretend to understand most of it so she didn't even glance at it. Just shook her head then went to the kitchen to heat water for tea. The ringing of a cell phone lead to her Naomi's lying forgotten on her desk. Glancing at the caller ID, she saw that it was Clint. "Naomi's phone."

"_Serene, where's Naomi?_"

Clint took great pains to keep his voice neutral, but the concern still came through. "Donny took her to the store. They should be back soon." A knock on the door startled her. "That was quick."

~~O~~

In the passenger seat of Coulson's car, Clint waited impatiently for Serene to put Naomi on the phone, but instead, a strange woman asked for Naomi, and when told she was out, the woman got upset. Angry voices, a short scuffle and Serene crying out in pain where heard just before the phone thumped to the floor. But what alarmed Clint the most was the sound of a round being chambered as the voices faded down the hall. Vaguely, Clint heard Serene call out the name Mary Jane, and then nothing.

"Step on it, Coulson!"

~~O~~

Behind the wheel and driving at well over the posted speed limits, Phil shot a quick glance at his companion. Clint was biting his lip, his left heel pounding a rhythm on the floorboard and his eyes tracking back and forth with anger that he knew could be unleashed at any moment. And as always, Phil felt just a little sorry for anyone who got in his way when it happened.

"Naomi." Phil stated with certainty.

"No. Her friend Serene's been taken."

Phil swerved around a slow moving box truck, weaved through the rest of the traffic and made a hard left from the center lane amid horns blast and tires screeching as his foot came down harder on the accelerator. "Sorry. We'll find her."

"I know."

Concentrating hard, Phil maneuvered around vehicles stopped at a red light to blow through without slowing down for the oncoming traffic. Yanking on the wheel, Phil made the last turn onto Elmwood, floored it then screeched to a stop near where Barton's truck had once stood, the yellow tape flapping in the breeze, scorch marks on the pavement and burnt grass making it look like a small scale terrorist attack.

"Weapons?"

"Got 'em." Phil got out, taking a Sig229 Enhanced Elite from under his left arm.

"That's _it?_"

"Maybe. And maybe I have more." The two men broke into a jog through the filled parking lot both very aware of their surroundings. "A guy has to have _some_ secrets, right?"

They'd gotten to Naomi's complex in just a short time, but no vehicles had been observed leaving the dead end street. That meant they were still inside the building. A car pulled into the parking lot, screeching to a stop. Donny and Naomi joined them, both eying the weapons the agents were holding.

"What happened?" An officer of the court, Donny was used to being in tense situations and only his eyes betrayed his worry.

"Someone's taken Serene. Any idea who Mary Jane is?"

Naomi exchanged puzzled glances with Donny. "She doesn't know anyone…wait. There was a girl who worked in the food court a while ago. She wore these ridiculous-looking shoes called Mary Janes. I wonder…"

Before she could complete her thought, Clint interrupted. "What's her real name?"

"We just always called her Mary Jane. Uh…Joanne! Joanne Hayes!"

Phil took out his phone and moved to the middle of the room. "This is agent Charlie niner requesting a secure line."

"_Confirmed. Line secure. Transferring to Agent Farland._" Phil heard a click then, "_Farland. What can I do for you, Agent Coulson?_"

"I need everything you can give me on Joanne Hayes. Her last known location was New York Central University as of…" he asked a silent question of Naomi. She raised both hands all fingers extended, "…ten months ago."

Barton moved to stand in front of him, his head cocked to the side trying to listen in, reading over his shoulder as he wrote down the information Farland was giving him. Not that there was much aside from field of study and a quick background. More details would come later.

~~O~~

Clint saw Naomi take Donny's hand for comfort. "They didn't come out the front door so they're either still in the apartment or somewhere in the building." He pointed at the civilians. "Stay here."

"But, Clint…" Naomi started, but Donny touched her on the arm and gave a shake of his head. "Shouldn't we call the police?"

From his back waistband, Clint removed the Glock and checked that he had a full magazine while Phil held up the Sig. "We'll take care of this."

~~O~~

Clint hit the front entrance with a full head of steam and Phil on his six. When they reached the second floor, they flattened against the wall as Clint eased the door open just a crack while taking the Glock from its place in the holster under his right arm. The snick of the safety coming off was followed by Coulson doing the same with the Sig.

This wasn't the first time Clint and Coulson had been in a firefight together. In the past, they'd been live fire drills. But this time it wasn't a scenario to be played out for the benefit of SHIELD and their training team to assess his readiness. This time it was for real. And the life at stake wasn't that of some foreign diplomat, a school bus full of children or a reclusive scientist on the verge of a momentous discovery that would revolutionize the world and put thousands of people out of work.

No, this time the life that hung in the balance was the best friend of the woman Clint loved. And he would be _damned_ for all eternity if he'd let the man who had been making Naomi's life hell get away with it. He briefly mused that he was probably already damned. "Phil?"

Clint felt more than heard Coulson's surprise at the use of his first name. He didn't blame him. He didn't do it often. "Yeah?"

"Do me a favor."

"Sure."

The archer paused to reflect a moment on what to say next because his soul might possibly hang in the balance. Naomi had given him someone to come home to. Something he hadn't had since before his parents had died. If he lost her before she even knew how much she had given him…and a friend of Naomi's was his friend too. "When we catch this guy…if she's hurt Serene in any way…do _not_ let me kill her."

"You got it. But if it's necessary, don't hesitate."

Sensing the humor in Coulson's voice as well as the fact that he would stand behind whatever the archer chose to do, Clint flashed him a quick half-grin. "On three. One…"

"Two…"

"Three!" Clint jerked the door open, Coulson barreling through with his weapon raised. Clint followed, his eyes scanning the far end of the hall seeing nothing and no one moving. "Clear!"

"Clear!"

With Clint leading the way, the two men carefully made their way to Naomi's apartment. Clint gestured and Coulson ducked into Serene's apartment to emerge moments after a quick search. "Clear."

Moving together to Naomi's door standing ajar, again Clint counted down using his right hand, curling one finger at a time into his palm leaving an upraised fist. Lifting his left foot, Clint kicked the door and burst into the room. "FBI! Get down on the floor! Now!"

The room was empty, though there were signs of a struggle and a cell phone in the middle of the floor.

~~O~~

Phil assessed Barton's state of mind and judged that he was better off than if the person who'd been taken was Naomi. The young man had been with the circus then on his own for so long that he possessed few social skills that would help him be the agent he was destined to become. That Phil _knew_ he could be. He had come a long way in just over a year. In the beginning, Barton had resisted learning what most people knew by the time they started grade school. He had been unkempt and sloppy in his attire and manner, often saying what he was thinking as if he had no internal filter. And that had been one of the hardest things to teach him, not to say everything he was thinking.

Phil was a patient and persistent man, and one day, it had all fallen into place for Barton. There were still some rough edges, but those would smooth out in time. Objectively, to look at the man now, he would never have guessed at his history.

To Farland, he said, "This is a time sensitive operation. Send the information to Agent Zebra eight's non-secure email address."

Rapid tapping in the background was followed by the satisfied voice of Agent Farland. "_Done. You know what to do once the information is no longer needed._"

"I do. Mark myself and Agent Barton as off the grid."

"_Confirmed. Farland out._"

Phil hit the end key and returned the phone to the pocket of his coat.

~~O~~

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Serene felt a sharp pain as she was rapped on the back of the head. She saw stars then nothing. Some unknown amount of time later, she awoke tied to a thick pipe that ran the length of the wall. Tugging on the ropes didn't get her anywhere, and she was alone. Or was she? "Hello?" Her captor came into view and just stood there holding a small silver gun. Serene wasn't surprised to see the crazed gleam in Joanne's eyes. "Why are you doing this, Joanne?"

"I'm surprised you remember my name. You didn't seem to find me worthy to even speak to when I worked at the food court."

"I'm sorry if it seemed that way. Tell me what's going on here because I'd like to help, if I can."

Joanne, a woman about Serene's age with light brown hair and a toned body, waved the gun. "Does it matter? You won't be around much longer."

"Too bad, because I was just thinking that being tied up in the boiler room for the rest of my life would be _so_ much _fun_." Her captor slapped her across the face, but Serene wouldn't give her the satisfaction of crying out. She merely glared.

This boiler room looked like any other of its kind. It was filled with shelves of tools, supplies and parts in boxes, mops, brooms, a winch, a table with two chairs, a refrigerator humming in the corner and a thick layer of dust over everything. There was lots that could help her get away, but they were too far to reach.

While Serene held out the hope that Donny would be the one to rescue her, she knew that it would most likely be Clint. But the longer she sat there the sleepier she got and hoped that didn't mean she had a concussion. As the adrenaline wore off, the exhaustion of the last few days overcame her and she dropped into a light doze only to be jerked awake by an oath from Joanne. "What's going on?"

Joanne didn't answer as she went to the stairs and peered up at the door above holding the gun out in front of her. She stiffened as footsteps and male voices passed recognizing Clint's. They faded away and with them a little bit of hope.

~~O~~

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Clint wanted to tell Coulson to shove off and let him finish this because he worked better alone. His training kicked in once more and he kept quiet. As much as he wanted to find Serene on his own, he knew that there was safety in numbers. Having two on an op more than doubled their chances of getting themselves and the hostage out alive. "Twenty-five, born in Tularosa, New Mexico. Never married. One sister, two brothers. Degrees in electrical and mechanical engineering, and chemistry." He handed the page he'd printed from Naomi's computer to Coulson so he could pull off his jacket. "If you're thinking Joanne took Serene to the basement then yes."

"She's intelligent and has a history of mental illness. Never a good combination." Coulson gestured to Clint to take the lead as they headed down to the first floor.

Hurrying down the hall, Clint wondered aloud, "How many cases have there been of one woman stalking another?"

"It's not unheard of. Just not as common as opposite gender stalking. Of course, her reasons may not be sexually motivated at all. It could just be the stalker's stalker removing the completion."

When they reached the first floor, they located the basement access and carefully eased the door open. Clint cocked his head to the side, but he could only hear the environmental systems pumping warm air into the apartments above to stave off the cold.

His weapon out in front of him, Clint made his way down the concrete steps one at a time until he could see Serene sitting on the floor tied to a pipe. She saw him and sagged in relief, knowing not to give their presence away. Coulson tapped him on the shoulder. He nodded and pointed. Unspoken communication passed between the men. Clint would search the basement to the left and Coulson to the right then they'd return to release Serene.

~~O~~

The hallway leading to the right turned at a ninety degree angle and kept going until Phil reached another maintenance area. The door was locked and there was no other way out. If Hayes was still in the basement, she would be down the hall Clint had taken.

A shout and the sound of a scuffle followed by a woman swearing heatedly reached him as he dispensed with stealth and jogged back to the stairs.

"Let me go! *****! Argh!"

Slipping the Sig back into the holster under his left arm, Phil joined Clint just as he was cutting the ropes from Serene's wrists. He helped her to stand and surprised him by hugging him tightly. After a briefly moment's hesitation, he enfolded her in his arms. Over Clint's shoulder, Serene's eyes met Phil's and she push out of the archers embrace. "Hello."

Stepped forward, Phil extended his hand. "Phil Coulson. I'm…"

Nodding, Serene supplied the answer, "Clint's cousin." She eyes their weapons. "Thought he was a student at the college."

"A student?" The word exploded out of Joanne sitting on the floor with her hands cuffed behind her as she glared daggers at Clint. "You fight like a friggin' _cop!_ I should've shot you when I had the chance. Get me a lawyer! This is abuse of authority!"

Phil squatted next to Joanne as she tried to scoot away. "Dr. Joanne Hayes, you are under arrest for kidnapping, possession of an unlicensed firearm, trespassing, threatening a federal agent and jaywalking."

"Jaywalking? Are you trying to be funny?"

"Okay, so we might not be able to make that one stick, but we've got you on the other charges." Phil lifted Joanne to her feet. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?"

Joanne scoffed. "I have a PhD. Of _course_ I understand."

Unfazed, Phil asked the next question. "Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?"

"No." After that one word, she turned her head and stared off into space refusing to pick up her feet, forcing Phil to literally drag her toward the stairs.

The door at the top of the stairs inched open a crack then was flung open as Donny ran down the with Naomi behind him. The two of them hugged Serene with Naomi returning to confront Joanne. "Why are you stalking me? What did I ever do to you?"

Joanne just glared and Phil responded. "She's remaining silent for now. We'll see what happens when we get her to…let's call it the safe house."

Clint nodded as if he knew what Phil were talking about. "Are they sending the van?"

"No. I'll take her myself."

"What the _hell_ is going on?!" Both men were startled at the exclamation. Not that it had happened, but that it had come from Naomi instead of Joanne. "What…"

~~O~~

Phil nodded, Clint taking the hint. He took Naomi by the hand and attempted to lead her to the elevator, Donny and Serene behind them. "Let's go back to your apartment. I'll explain there."

"You'll explain why you're _scaring_ that poor girl?"

His voice tight as he pushed her toward the door, Clint said, "That 'poor girl' stalked you for months, blew up my truck, tried to kidnap you and _did_ kidnap Serene. What did you _think_ was going to happen?"

Naomi dug her feet in refusing to budge, genuinely angry. "But _he_ just said…"

"Can we just _go?_"

"Not until I get some answers! Where are you taking her?" She carefully enunciated each word.

~~O~~

Clint looked to Coulson for help, but the other man just shrugged telling him he was on his own. _Fine!_

Putting his foot down, literally, Clint got nose to nose with Naomi. "We…are…_leaving_. Now!"

Crossing her arms, Naomi's chin came up defiantly. "We…are…staying! Oh!"

Having had enough of whatever was going with Naomi, Clint decided to end it here and now. Taking her left hand in his right, he bent at the knees, ducked his head and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. To Coulson he said, "I'll submit my report no later than midnight tomorrow."

And with that parting shot, he hit the button for the elevator, rode up to the second floor and strode purposefully down the hall to Naomi's apartment. All the while, she struggled and complained about what he was doing to her and wanting to know what would happen to Joanne. Once inside, he put her down, but she continued to demand answers.

Finally, he could take no more. Holding her by the upper arms, he covered her mouth with his. At first it was just to shut her up, but it didn't stay that way. She finally stopped struggling, her hands coming up to twist themselves into the material of his shirt, her sounds of protest changing to moans of pleasure. When the kiss ended, she looked up at him, her brown eyes bright with desire. "Wh-what was I saying?"

"Nothing important." Clint slowly released her, looking for any sign that she would bolt. But she didn't move except to press herself closer, her arms snaking around his waist as she rested her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and just held on. "I'm glad Serene's okay."

"Yeah. Me too." Tilting her head back, she smiled affectionately at him. "Know what I wanna do now?"

"Probably the same thing _I_ wanna do."

A few minutes later, they were cuddled together in the middle of Naomi's bed. Only now that the danger to her was gone, he wore pajamas instead of his clothes. Oh, the Glock and his favorite knife were still stored between the mattress and the box spring-you could never be too careful-but he was at least sixty percent certain he wouldn't be needing them for a while.

And when the sun came up, they were sound asleep, neither one hearing when someone knocked on the door. The person eventually went away leaving them to enjoy the fact that they were together.

**TBC**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 18**

_Sitting at the table, Clint tried to ignore his older brother's attempts to annoy him until he knocked over his glass of milk. "Mom! Barney's bein' a butthead again."_

_Hannah Barton rushed to clean up the mess, setting the glass upright and wiping the outside before sopping up the white puddle. "Boys, be nice. And Clint, don't call your brother a butthead." She brought the bottle and poured Clint more milk. "Now drink up and go brush your teeth. It's almost time to leave for school. You too, Barney."_

_Six-year old Clint rushed to carry out his mother's instructions then grabbed his backpack and waited by the front door. Barney and his mother joined him and together the three of them walked the four blocks to Rushton Elementary._

_He started to hug her good-bye, but her face was gone, her features a blur. She reached out for him moaning and snarling, her arms becoming tentacles flailing in the air. He stumbled backward, tripped and fell, screaming as she reached for him…_

Clint awoke from the dream, his eyes frantically searching the dark room not remembering at first where he was. Sagging in relief when he realized he was in his apartment, he threw the covers off and sat up on the side of the bed. This had been the third night in a row he'd dreamt of his mother. Each time she eventually turned into a faceless…thing that tried to squeeze the life out of him.

Until recently, it hadn't bothered him much not to be able to remember his mother. Then he had fallen in love with Naomi, and listening to the way she spoke of _her_ mother and the love that shone through each time, it was no small stretch to see that the two events were connected.

But he was jerked awake each night and when he got up, Naomi would get up with him. He saw no sense in them both not sleeping so he'd moved back to his apartment. Thinking over the past few nights, and that offhand comment from Crosse, he made the decision to do something about it.

Clint had never had a problem with only getting a few hours of sleep, but Naomi needed rest and if the only way to do that was to remember what his mother looked like, then so be it.

Running his wet hands through his hair, he thought about cutting it, but didn't feel like bothering until after the holidays. In the summer, his hair took on natural highlights. But now, with winter on its way, those blond streaks had faded leaving him with dark hair that was just a little unruly at its present length.

He shaved around his goatee then trimmed the area on his chin. Once done, he didn't care for the way it looked so, just to be different from all the other men who wore similar facial hair, he removed the sides, leaving him with a mustache and chin beard that came up in the middle just short of his lower lip. He wiped the left over shaving cream away, took the towel from around his waist, running it over his still damp chest and back then tossed it over the shower rod.

The time caught Clint's eye as he pulled on his boxers and T-shirt. Naomi should be awake by now. He picked up the phone, finger poised over the number one. Naomi was the first and _only_ person he'd ever placed on speed dial though he didn't have to think hard to figure out why. He loved her and that made her #1 in his mind. She came before the job, money, a God he only half believed in, and himself. He would give up his life if it meant that she would go on.

Pressing the button, he waited for her to answer, and when she did, his stomach did a little flip that reminded him of every time he had done a triple somersault on the trapeze. Every time he came out of the third flip, there was always that one instant where he wasn't certain Robert-he used the French pronunciation of Roh-bare-would be there to catch him. But he did, and the crowd would go wild over a boy of only fourteen who could perform a trick that eluded many adults.

"_Hello?_"

"It's Clint."

"_Clint who?_" Her tone was teasing, the smile coming through loud and clear.

He smiled back though she couldn't see it. "The man you've been sleeping with."

The sound of water running told him she was getting the coffee pot ready. "_Oh, _that _Clint. I'm making coffee. Pick up breakfast on the way over?_" When he didn't answer right away, she played her trump card. "_Or I can cook. Your choice._"

He didn't care for fast food breakfast, but this conversation had become their morning routine when they weren't together. "I'll stop. The usual?"

"_Mm-hm. With bacon instead of sausage this time._"

"I'll be there soon. Bye."

~~O~~

The door opened and Clint pulled her to him with one arm and kissed her, the other holding the bag with their breakfast. "Morning."

"Morning."

She took the bag and set their meals on the plates on the table. When she turned around, he'd already poured them each a cup of coffee, placing a packet of sweetener next to hers before holding her chair. Once he was seated, she watched him from the corner of her eye and though he appeared to be fully involved in unwrapping his meal, she knew otherwise.

He had something on his mind when he did that and it had nothing to do with the elephant in the room. The elephant being the fact that they had spent many nights sleeping in the same bed, but had not yet crossed over to making love. And though he seemed to be content for their lives to go on like this, she wasn't. Every night they were together yet not, she wanted to scream. She'd made tentative advances on a few occasions, but he hadn't taken her up on them. And she knew why.

There was so much in his past that he still had to work out before they could admit that they loved each other. If she told him now, and though she was certain he felt the same way, it might be more than he could grasp at this time.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Naomi had known he was about to speak. He always made this little sound in his throat when he spoke after being silent for so long. She took his hand. "A better question is what's on _your_ mind?"

Looking down at his plate, he suddenly seemed shy and fearful of expressing his thoughts. "My mother."

That was _not_ what she had expected because he'd only mentioned his mother once or twice as long as she'd known him. "Oh?"

"I've been having dreams." She held her breath while he gathered his nerve. "I can't remember her face. She died when I was six. Barney was ten. We spent the next six years in an orphanage in Iowa."

"You weren't adopted?"

"No. We were a package deal and no one wanted older kids so we had two strikes against us. The staff there, they weren't abusive, just not as caring as most of us needed them to be. Some of the older boys who'd been there longer were cruel to the younger ones. And one night, after they had beaten Barney badly enough for him to be kept in the Infirmary, we made plans to run away."

Naomi held her breath, afraid to disturb him.

"They took us to the circus the following weekend. A rare event. We, Barney and me, had never been and we were just so captivated by the sights, the sounds, the people and especially the animals that we decided that we would do it that night. We would leave The Childress Home for Children and join…" he made a grand gesture, and in a deep, booming voice, announced, "…Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders.

"For the first few months we worked as roustabouts, doing any odd job that Mr. or Mrs. Carson needed doing. Mostly it was mucking out the animal cages, but we didn't care. We were free and that was all that counted.

"Buck Chisholm was a master archer. He took me under his wing, taught me to use a bow and arrow and eventually put me in the show. The day he turned eighteen, Barney joined the Army and I haven't seen him since." Clint stopped to sip his lukewarm coffee and Naomi took the opportunity to ask a question.

"I'm sorry about your brother. Really. And I would love to hear more, but what does it have to do with your mother?"

"More coffee?" He didn't wait for her to answer, just carried both cups into the kitchen, refilled them and returned. "Nothing really. I just had this impulse to tell you about that part of my life."

"Okay. We can talk about whatever you want. This is your show and I'm happy to listen. As a _friend_." She added the last so he'd know that she wasn't analyzing him.

"My mother was kind, gentle, smart and funny. You remind me of her. How she could have married a man who drank himself unconscious most nights and verbally abused her, and us, I have no idea. But she loved him. He just never appreciated what an _honor_ that was. To have someone that loved him so much that nothing he could ever do would make her stop."

"I'm sorry."

Clint shrugged and looked away again. What he'd just said embarrassed him because it betrayed his own hopes and dreams for a love that would last forever.

"In Italy, they have a saying, '_Il vero amore e senza rimpianti.'_ It means…"

"Real love is without regret."

Of all the things that she didn't know about Clint, this was the most surprising. "You speak Italian?"

He held up a thumb and forefinger pinching the air. "_Un poco, si._"

Now this could be _very_ interesting because Naomi knew a few languages herself. "_Il n'y a que les montagnes qui ne se rencontrent jamais._" (There are none so distant that fate cannot bring together.)

"_À cœur vaillant rien d'impossible._" (Nothing is impossible for a willing heart.)

_Hmm. Italian _and_ French._

But before she could speak again, Clint brushed her hair away from her face, cupping her cheek. _"__Tú eres la mujer más bella que he visto._" (You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.)

Unable to help herself, Naomi answered, "_Gracias, pero las apariencias engañan._" (Thank you, but looks can be deceiving.)

To end their byplay, he gulped down the rest of his coffee then stared into the cup as if the answers would be there. Setting it aside, he clasped his hands together in front of him then looked her in the eye. "I want you to hypnotize me."

~~O~~

Clint had startled Naomi with his request to be hypnotized. Even someone who didn't know her as well as he did could tell. It was the jaw-dropping look of shock on her beautiful face. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"Oh! Yes. Of course. When would you like to do it?"

"Now?"

She stood and he did as well, helping to carry the dishes to the kitchen. "If you're sure…"

"Not really. But I do want to remember her and I want to sleep at night."

"That's why you moved back to your apartment. So you wouldn't keep me awake?"

Shoving the plug in the sink, he started the hot water. "That and, well, it _is_ where I live." Though she hid it well, Naomi was hurt by his quip. He'd make it up to her later. After she helped him remember his mother. "How do we start?"

He turned off the water and followed her to the living room. "We can do it here if you like."

"Sitting or laying?"

"Up to you. However you feel the most relaxed."

Clint lifted the left side of his mouth in a rueful smile. "That would be standing in front of a target holding a bow and arrow, running six miles, or…" He trailed off. The one thing he knew for a fact would relax him, possibly even enough for her to be able to do this, he couldn't do with her. To make love to her now would be using her, and that he would never do. It would be the same if he had someone else on whom he could call to perform that particular service. He was in love with Naomi. Other woman had no appeal for him anymore.

Naomi glanced out at the snow falling steadily. "Too cold to run and the range is closed today."

"The sofa it is." He took off his boots and lay down with Naomi sitting next to him. "I should warn you that it's been tried and didn't work." That was only the partial truth. He had been trained to resist hypnosis, though he hoped she was able to get past that enough to get at his memories.

"There also has to be some level of trust…"

Taking her hand, he held it tight. "And I _do_ trust you, but that may not be enough." Clint hoped Naomi understood what he was trying to say without actually saying it. Yes, he did trust her as much as he trusted anyone. More, but he had so much inside him that was buried under years and years of caution and suspicion of others' motives that he'd learned as a carny that he wasn't sure if even _she_ could break through. And because he did trust her, he didn't voice his request that she confine her questions to his mother.

Naomi closed the curtains and dimmed the lights till there was only the soft glow from the bathroom nightlight to see by. "In a moment, I'm going to begin counting down from five. Just listen to the sound of my voice and relax. Five, you're starting to relax…"

A few minutes later they both gave up. No matter what she said, his subconscious mind fought against it. Frustrated, he sat up, elbows on his knees and both hands in his hair. "The coffee was probably a bad idea."

"First, coffee is _never_ a bad idea."

"And second?"

Her mouth twisted into a smirk. "I was all out of regular. We drank decaf."

"What if I go for a run around the block a few times?" He parted the curtains to see everything covered in at least six inches of snow. "Or a hot shower?"

Going to the hall closet, Naomi took down a big fluffy towel in the same color of green as her bathroom décor. "Can't hurt to try."

~~O~~

Pacing from one side of the room to the other, Naomi listened to the water running in the bathroom. The urge to open the door and join him was great. But he'd come here today for help, and making love to him now would only be helping herself.

While she'd been pacing and thinking, the water had shut off. A few minutes later, he came out wearing only his T-shirt and boxers, the towel hanging from one hand making it difficult for her not to stare. Tearing her eyes away from his muscular legs covered in dark hair, she was then presented with his equally muscular chest, the shirt stretched taut, defining his pectorals and abs.

When Naomi got to his eyes, she saw the teasing smirk that told her he knew what she'd been thinking. Ignoring his knowing smile, she took the towel from his hand and drew him to the armchair. It was soft and deep and very comfortable. She had fallen asleep in it more than a few times. "Sit here."

When he was seated, she used the towel to dry his hair then carried it to the bathroom, returning with a comb. Running the comb through his longish hair created an air of intimacy that even sleeping in the same bed didn't provide.

The moment she touched him, his hands clenched on the cushioned arms, but the longer she worked with the soft dark strands, the more relaxed he became. This wasn't an approved method of hypnotism, but if it worked for him, good. She lowered the volume and pitch of her voice even more. "Take long, slow, deep breaths. Relax. Feel your body beginning to float, becoming lighter with each breath you take…"

Leaning to one side, she saw his eyes drift closed, his hands and arms now totally relaxed. "I'm going to count down from five. When I reach one, you will be completely…"

**Hours Later**

"…I'm _not_ ready to admit defeat, Clint." Naomi rubbed her forehead with her fingers. No matter what she said, she was as frustrated as he with the lack of progress in putting him under.

"Well,_ I_ am. This was a _bad_ idea in the first place. Let's just forget about it." He covered a yawn and that gave her another idea. She took him by the hand, leading him into the bedroom. "Naomi, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking…"

"No. It's time for a nap. We've been at this since eight this morning. You're tired. I'm tired. Just curl up under the covers and rest for a while."

Again he pushed a hand through his hair making it stand up. "Fine."

She hadn't bothered to make the bed today and didn't much care. Her mother had been adamant that the bed must be made each morning before leaving the house, and until she met Clint, she'd bought into that mindset. As a psychologist, she knew it was a trap she'd been born to keep setting for herself day after day. Now other things were more important and those that had seemed so were not.

Clint went around to the other side, lifted the covers and slid under, scooting around until he was comfortable. She kissed him on the forehead, turned out the light and had nearly made it to the door when he called out to her.

"Where're you going?"

"The dishes need doing and I have to put my kitchen back in order after you rearranged it." That slow grin that got to her every time made its appearance right on cue. He lifted the covers again, patting the bed beside him and giving her a sly, seductive glance. Since the day they met she'd not been able to resist that look. Kicking off her slippers, she sat down and swung her legs up under the covers, the chill of the sheets cooling her skin.

Immediately, Clint slithered his arm around her waist, pulling her close. He moved his top leg over both of hers bringing them even closer. His warm breath hit the side of her neck just before he planted a brief kiss on the spot where her neck and shoulder joined and rubbed his stubbly cheek against hers. She felt his nose graze her nape as he sniffed her a few times then he relaxed with a long sigh.

**TBC**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 19**

Though she was as tired and frustrated as Clint with their lack of progress in hypnotizing him, she couldn't fall asleep. She kept thinking about, well, everything. His remark about not living here, his reaction when she touched his hair, him in general. And something she just thought about. Sometimes when they were close to each other, he would sniff her. It was odd, but not enough to mention it. He was making a scent memory of her, and that made her feel special. Clint's arm tightened fractionally telling her that he was not quite asleep. There was something she could try. "Clint?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about your mother. Describe her."

He inhaled and exhaled once before responding. "We were very close. She had dark blond hair, wavy, that went down to her shoulders, with blue eyes. She smiled all the time when Dad wasn't around, and she could always make me laugh when I was feeling blue. I remember one time…"

He went on to describe an incident that happened on his fifth birthday that involved twenty five-year olds, a birthday cake and the neighbor's dog chasing a cat through their back yard. The only reason they had the party in the first place was because his father had been picked up for driving under the influence and was spending the next few days in jail. Dad had refused to allow Mom to put up the bail money. By the time he'd come home, the mess had been cleaned up and Dad had been none the wiser, the parents and kids having been sworn to secrecy. And Naomi felt honored that she had been the first person to ever hear the story.

When he finished, he snuggled closer and went to sleep, and hopefully, he would remember everything when he awakened. She carefully lifted his arm, slowly extracting each leg and easing out of the bed. Going to her computer, she booted it up, opened her research file and added the attempt at hypnosis. She attributed it to the strength of his mind as well as an inability to completely trust another. She saved it and shut down again. In her research, he was referred to simply as "Subject C." That was good enough for the university's board of directors. And if it wasn't, too bad.

Out in the kitchen, she returned everything to their former places so that she, a right handed person, could work without awkwardness. Tiptoeing back into the bedroom, she gathered clothes, changed in the bathroom then left Clint a note saying she was going out for a while.

~~O~~

Naomi left the room and once Clint was certain she was gone, he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He'd remembered his mother's face and Naomi hadn't had to hypnotize him to do it. How did that work? How was she able to do it snuggled in bed with him when it hadn't worked in the traditional way? Maybe he should just forget about finding answers and thank her.

Now that she had paved the way, he was remembering more and more. It wasn't her fault that not all of it was as much fun as the birthday party.

He heard cabinets opening and closing wondering what she was doing. Not that it mattered as long as she was still here. The bedroom door opened and he quickly closed his eyes pretending to be asleep. She gathered clothes then just as quietly left again. A few minutes later the front door opened and closed. Pushing the covers off, he went into the living room looking around, not certain what he was looking for. Then he saw it. Pinned to the refrigerator door was a note telling him she had gone to the grocery store and approximately how long she would be gone. He wasn't sure exactly what it meant and made a mental note to ask Coulson the next time they spoke. And though he didn't understand the exact meaning, for some reason, the fact that she took the time to write it made him feel…cared for.

His phone vibrated across the coffee table and he reached for it just as it stopped. Checking the missed calls, he saw that it had been Coulson. What was it the nurse at the orphanage used to say? Speak of the devil and he doth appear? _Too right_, he thought wryly.

Taking the note down, he folded it twice, carried it to his duffle bag and placed it carefully in a small zippered pocket inside. He was cold so he returned to the bedroom to put on socks, jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt while hot water was boiling for tea now that the coffee was gone. The kettle whistled and he went to answer the call finding that Naomi had returned everything to its original places.

Grinning to himself, Clint set about redoing it so he could cook dinner. He'd just finished when he remembered that he had to make up for the minor hurt he had caused her this morning. To do that, he would need different clothes. Taking a sheet of paper from the pad on her desk, he wrote a note of his own, stuck it on the refrigerator and grabbed his jacket. Using the extra key that Naomi kept in her desk, he locked up and headed out.

The insurance company had been persuaded to settle his claim quickly and he had purchased a new truck the night before. Instead of white, he had gotten one in jet black with a black leather interior.

At his apartment, he tossed the duffle bag on the bed then went to the closet to see what he had that would work for what he had in mind for tonight. He took out a black turtleneck sweater and black dress slacks. He didn't have dress shoes so his black sneakers would have to do.

He removed his dirty clothes from the bag then, after a moment's thought, the note. Unfolding it, he propped it up on the bedside table and just looked at it. The longer he looked, the more perplexed he became. He understood the words, but not the _meaning_. Why would she even bother to leave a note? She was an adult and didn't have to account for her whereabouts to him or anyone else. Deciding to take the initiative for once, he took out his phone and dialed.

"_Coulson._"

"It's Barton." There was shocked silence from Coulson and Clint didn't blame him. Twice in one month he had been the one to initiate contact and each time it was for the same reason: Naomi. "I need your help."

"_With?_"

"Naomi. Dr. DeLuca. Something happened today that has me…confused."

He heard the slurp of Coulson taking a sip of coffee. "_Do what I can. What has you so mystified this time?_"

"She left me a note."

In the background, he heard the rustle of papers being shuffled stop. "_A note? _That's_ why you're calling? What does it say?_" Clint read the note exactly as it was written and waited for an epiphany from his friend. "_Hasn't anyone ever left you a note before?_"

"No. Why?"

"_Sounds pretty straightforward. She wanted you to know where she'd gone and when she'd be back._"

Clint huffed into the phone to show his annoyance. "Yes, but what does it _mean?_"

"_You want the deeper meaning beyond the obvious._"

"Yes."

The humor that Coulson was feeling on his behalf came through loud and clear. "_You only leave a note for someone you care about so they won't worry._"

What could Clint say to that? He settled for, "Really?"

"_Yes. And you're welc…_"

His thumb hit the end key harder than he intended then he laid the phone on the table in front of the note thinking long and hard about everything as he changed clothes. In the bathroom, he found his wristband and a narrow strip of leather that had a small pendant dangling from it. They weren't appropriate for the evening he had planned, but he took them anyway.

Once he was changed and clean casual clothes were put in the bag, he called the number of a nice restaurant he'd seen in the area, making a reservation for eight that evening. While he was on the line, he also ordered a bottle of wine. This particular vintage needed a couple of hours to breathe before drinking, and he hoped Naomi would enjoy it as much as he did.

Exchanging his brown bomber-type jacket for a longer one in black that he'd bought the day before, he slipped it on, shrugging the shoulders into place before grabbing his bag and making his way downstairs. In the lobby, he encountered Vanessa who greeted him warmly as always.

"Clint! I haven't seen you around for a while. Everything okay?"

"Yes, of course, Vanessa. Yourself?"

She grinned, showing off a mouthful of straight white teeth. "Stellar! You know, college life seems to agree with you. You were so solemn when you first moved in, but now you seem happy."

And that's when it hit him. He had known before, but somehow it hadn't quite sunk in until this moment. He _was_ genuinely happy for the first time in years. "That's because I am. I, uh, do need some advice, if you have time."

"For you, always. What's on your mind?"

Clint laid out his dilemma and Vanessa, always willing to help, told him what he needed to know.

"Well, I gotta go, Clint. See you later."

"Good night. And Vanessa?" His neighbor stopped on the third step to look at him over her shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for everything."

"You're very welcome, honey. Bye."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Clint left the building and got into his truck with a smile on his face.

~~O~~

Dinner time would be around soon so Naomi went into the kitchen to see what she wanted to make for dinner. Clint was right about the microwave meals that tasted just like the boxes they came in. It wasn't that she couldn't cook. It was more that she had shown no interest in it while she was growing up so her skills were weak. Her studies had always been more important than learning to make food that could just as easily be ordered from a restaurant or made by someone else.

She stopped in the doorway, hands on her hips and her mouth open. Clint had once again rearranged the entire kitchen to better suit his left handedness. She started to laugh, but it turned into an oh, my God moment. If he went to all the trouble of moving things around to suit himself, what did that say about their relationship? Did it say he cared about her as more than just a friend? Well, of course he did or he wouldn't have indicated by his actions that he wanted to sleep with her. By making over her world, was he saying that he had plans to be in it for the foreseeable future? If not, why do it?

Knocking on the front door sent her into the living room where she greeted Clint with a kiss. He eased back to look at her in puzzlement. "Everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Why all dressed up?"

Clint gave her another kiss before answering. "I'm taking you out to dinner."

"What's the occasion?"

He shrugged. "Thought it would be nice. If you don't want to go…"

"No! I mean yes. That would be great." A little shimmy of something went down her spine. A good something. "I'll just go get dressed."

"Take your time. The reservation's for eight."

"Reservations? Not burgers and fries then."

He shook his head and smiled that smile again. "Better."

Naomi put her hands on his shoulders and tiptoed to kiss him yet again. "_You_ are too good to me."

On the way to the bedroom she thought that maybe tonight would be the night. She would finally get to make love with the man who made her insides quiver just by being in the same room. And that reminded her she hadn't shaved her legs in about two weeks. From the bedroom closet she called out, "Think I'll get a shower first."

"Take as much time as you want."

Clint's phrasing made her smile because it told her he was willing to wait as long as necessary for her. Not wanting to make him wait too long, she grabbed her stuff and scurried into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Deciding to match his choice, Naomi chose black slacks and a sweater. A pair of black two-inch heels, gold hoop earrings with a matching necklace finished off the outfit. She pulled back the sides of her hair and secured them with clips. A touch of mascara, some blush and gloss to make her lips shine and she was ready to go. Just before presenting herself to Clint, she took a gold ring from her jewelry case and slipped it on her right hand. It had been her grandmother's. There hadn't been many reasons to wear it recently and tonight it seemed fitting.

~~O~~

The hostess escorted them to the table, Clint held Naomi's chair and by the time he seated himself, their server arrived with the menus. He didn't need it. He knew what he wanted and it was sitting across from him, her brown eyes tracking back and forth as she tried to decide what to order.

He went through the wine ritual with only half a mind. It had been drummed into him until he could do it in his sleep. He nodded to let the server know it was acceptable and the wine was poured.

Holding up his glass, he waited for Naomi to do the same. "May you laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live." They touched their glasses together and drank.

As soon as their meal arrived, he fought the urge to rush through dinner so he could have her to himself again, forcing himself to eat slowly, to savor each bite. The conversation flowed smoothly, just as it had from that first day on the rotunda. Eventually, the topic turned to the upcoming holiday. "What're your plans for Thanksgiving?"

Naomi inhaled the fragrance of her wine then took a sip. "I usually go to Mother's. We don't have any other family so it's just us. Sometimes she invites single friends and neighbors so they don't have to be alone. I never know _who_ might show up." She giggled. "One year she invited a transvestite from work. He was very sweet, helping with the cooking and the cleaning up afterwards. The only thing that annoyed me is he looked better in a dress than I did."

Chuckling, Clint cut a small bite of the Tiramisu. Neither of them had wanted a full serving so they were sharing from a plate in between them. "I doubt that." She gave him an indulgent smile, but didn't comment. "Would your mother mind another mouth to feed?"

"Not at all. She loves having people over. A couple of times a year, she has what she calls her 'Just because' parties. They have themes and may be held in the afternoon with a formal dress code or at the park."

"She sounds like quite the character."

Something flashed in Naomi's eyes though he couldn't tell what. It was as if she were proud and embarrassed at once. "She is. And I _was_ going to ask you to come."

Now it was Clint's turn to be ill at ease. "That was rude of me, inviting myself."

"Don't be. Mother won't mind. Really."

The band played soft instrumentals as a few couples got up to dance and Clint saw Naomi look longingly at them. He wanted to ask her to take a few turns around the floor, however, he knew that the moment he touched her, held her in his arms that he would want so much more. And for that they couldn't be in public.

The server came around to pour the last of the wine, discreetly left the check and departed taking with him the remains of their unfinished dessert. The food had been very good with just the right amount of pretentiousness to keep the atmosphere from being too casual or too stuffy.

On the way to the truck, instead of tucking her hand around his elbow, Clint let his side touch Naomi's and his hand rest on the small of her back just below her waist. It was a way for them to be intimate in public yet not overdo it.

Then taking her hand, he helped her into the truck, reaching across to buckle her seatbelt himself. Their eyes met. Hers were big and round, as if he'd done something that had surprised her. They were quiet on the drive back to her apartment. A companionable silence broken only by the sounds of the city, the truck's engine and their own breathing.

Naomi opened her door and faced him, her smile sweet and unaffected. "I had a good time tonight."

"Me too." She looked down, then slowly back up and for once he didn't hide his feelings. All that he felt for her could easily be seen, if she knew where to look. At least he hoped so. Without a lot of experience to go by, he had to trust his instincts. And his instincts were screaming.

"Would you like to come in? I'll make tea." She was pretending that this was just another date, that he hadn't been practically living with her these past few weeks.

He smiled, slow and easy, knowing the effect it would have on her. He wanted to touch her again. On the arm, the hand, hell he would even settle for her foot as long as he could feel her skin touching his. His left hand came up to push the door open the rest of the way. "I thought you'd never ask."

~~O~~

In the kitchen, Naomi busied herself making the tea, thinking about the night and if she really was ready for the next step. She did a quick internal diagnostic. Heart rate up? Check. Breathing increased? Check. Feeling warm and cuddly? Check! Prepared to rip Clint's clothes off and take him on the living room floor? Double check!

While the water boiled, she took the clips from her hair and slipped off the jewelry. She didn't want any awkward fumbling to get in the way of anything. Looking at her reflection in the side of the toaster, she ran a hand through her hair, the dinner conversation coming back and making her panic just a little.

Clint wanted to meet her mother! At the time she hadn't thought about it, but now she wondered if he had any idea of what it meant when you were dating someone. He was sophisticated and urbane one minute, a college student the next, naïve at times, and a cowboy the time after that. It was as if he didn't quite know who to be. He kept changing with the direction of the wind.

They still hadn't discussed what happened the other night with Joanne as well as what had happened to the woman after she and Clint had left. She knew he wouldn't bring it up, so that left her. But to do so now would most likely put an end to the coming festivities. In the morning or even on the drive to Mother's would be a good time, because then he couldn't run away. Though that didn't mean he would tell her, that he even knew or cared.

Over the last few weeks, she had gotten to know him better than she had any other man, and he didn't seem to be afraid of anything but expressing his emotions. To do so, he had to be very comfortable with your presence. There had to be a high level of trust. Trust that he had shown to her when he asked her to hypnotize him. For someone like him, it would be the ultimate expression of faith. Not of a spiritual nature, but of how vulnerable he was willing to allow himself to be around her.

The kettle whistled and he was there to carrying the tray, and generally being all the things that she wanted-and yes, needed-in a man, and she would willingly follow him wherever he might lead.

~~O~~

Going to the stereo, Clint pulled out the CD he'd bought on Vanessa's advice. He'd listened to a sampling of the tracks and had been pleased with what he heard. Dropping it into the player, he adjusted the volume then cracked the patio doors to let in a little of the night air before going into the kitchen to help Naomi with the tea. He carried the tray to the coffee table, poured a cup for Naomi then one for himself. They sat side by side just sipping tea and listening to the music. When the tea was gone, Clint stood, one hand extended. "Dance with me."

It was a request _and_ a demand. Naomi laid her smaller hand in his and he led her to the middle of the living room floor. He took her in his arms, his left hand holding her right and the other around her waist moving them slowly around the floor. The song wasn't familiar to him, but the sentiment was recognizable. It was all about a man and a woman falling in love and living their lives out together to the natural end.

That song ended and the next one began. This one he knew, and began to sing along.

"…baby, I'm amazed by you. The smell of your skin, the taste of your kiss, the way you whisper in the dark. Your hair all around me, baby you surround me, touch every place in my heart. And it feels like the first time, every time. I want to spend the whole night in your eyes."

Naomi moved her hand from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of his neck and he stopped in mid-sentence. She'd touched him there before, but this time the feeling was so much more intense that he lost his ability to breathe on his own, having to force his lungs to do their job.

The song ended and another began. One more he didn't know. He moved her right hand to his shoulder, dropping his left to join the other at her waist, swaying them gently back and forth. And when she laid her head on his chest above his heart, he almost lost it.

"Clint?"

"Hmm?"

She smiled and he could feel it where her cheek touched him. "Why didn't we dance at the restaurant?"

When she looked up, his eyes darted over her features and he realized that she could be plain and he would still love her because it was her mind and her inner beauty that had drawn him though he did have to admit that her exterior beauty had been the first thing he noticed. "Because I wanted to do _this_ without an audience." He released her, framing her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over her cheeks down to the corners of her mouth. In response, she parted her lips and he accepted her offering, tentatively at first. But the longer they kissed, the more their passion for each other built toward a fever pitch.

It didn't take long for them to begin to lose control. Then just as suddenly, Clint pulled away so he could look into her face once more. "You are so beautiful."

The sparkle of desire made her eyes look almost black with tiny sparks flickering in their depths. Just as quickly he kissed her again, their tongues tangling together. He was about to suggest that they move into the bedroom when Naomi's nimble fingers undid his belt buckle, yanked down his zipper, and pulled his shirt from the waistband.

Once on that slippery slope, they picked up speed until they were careening faster and faster, the world around them nothing but a blur. Clint wrapped his arm around her waist, his knees going weak as they ravaged each other's mouths, and suddenly they were on the floor. This desperation was not new to him, but Naomi was the first woman to ever literally make him lose complete control. And from the sounds she was making and the way her hands clutched at him, she was just as desperate.

Within seconds, he was poised on the brink. He paused as reason tried one last-ditch effort to assert its dominance over his animal instincts, that primitive urge to mate, and through the haze of desire, he heard her husky voice pleading, "I need you, Clint."

Then nothing else mattered but her and their need for each other. Millions upon millions of people were just outside the walls of the apartment, but here and now, there was only the two of them.

He moved in a very specific way, swallowing her gasp of pleasure, combining it with his, more than doubling it. Trebling it.

They'd danced, and now their bodies were united in another, more pleasurable dance. One that was new to them, yet as old as time itself. It may have taken a while to get to this moment, and it hadn't been easy, but when they reached the pinnacle, they knew in that instant, that it had been well worth the wait.

**TBC**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 20**

As the throes of passion slowly dissipated, Naomi once more became aware of the world around her. The sound of melting ice dripping from the eaves. Sirens screaming their way to another fire, accident or murder. The music that had continued to play, heedless of what they'd been doing. And the feel of Clint's hot breath on the side of her neck as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

She too was panting, her heart pounding so hard she was surprised it didn't jump out of her chest. Her arms and legs shook as the adrenaline dissipated, but she refused to let go. Refused to release her hold on the man she loved and just had wild, untamed sex with. This first time had been about fulfilling a need. About them being so hot for each other that moving to the bedroom not ten feet away had been too much trouble.

And suddenly, all those torturous nights of them sleeping in the same bed without crossing that line seemed worth the agony. Now, they were together at last, and she wanted to savor the sensation as long as possible. She knew that each time with him wouldn't always be like this, but as long as she was with him, nothing else mattered.

Clint lay on top of her, his elbows and knees taking most of his weight leaving just enough of him pressing against the front of her body to make her feel loved and cherished instead of squashed. His head moved fractionally causing their cheeks to rub and she felt the stickiness of perspiration on him that must be on her as well. Another way in which they were joined.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. At first he gave her a semi-embarrassed smile then it changed and once again it was _that_ smile. That cheeky take-me-now smile. "Oh, _man_. That-that was…" his voice had a coarse, scratchy quality. She didn't blame him. Her own throat felt raw with unexpressed emotion.

"…amazing? Incredible? Unbelievable?" She returned this smile with a wry twist of her lips making him chuckle lightly.

Instead of moving away from her, he pulled her into a hug, snuggling her close. "Among other things, though I'm having trouble thinking at the moment."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Perhaps we should…"

Realizing that she still held him in a tight hug with her legs wrapped around his hips, Naomi gently pressed her lips to his temple just in front of his ear and let go. Clint didn't immediately lean back in preparation for rising to his knees. Instead, he pressed his lips to hers, and in that kiss she still felt the raging passion that had engulfed them…was it just a few moments ago?

No. It couldn't be. Such a life-changing event could not have been over so quickly. It had to have gone on for hours, maybe even weeks. But when she found the red glowing numbers of the clock, it told a different story. Yes, time had passed, but it wasn't nearly as much as she thought. They had transcended time and space then returned to Earth where reality…and a chill swept through the room.

Together, they turned to face the patio, then back to each other and chuckling. He got to his knees then to his feet, reaching out to help her stand. "I wonder if the neighbors heard."

"Don't know. Don't care." Naomi finished doing up her slacks while Clint did the same before opening the door wider and stepping out onto the slush covered patio. She followed, her hands on the rail next to his and leaning against his side. They stayed just like that for a moment until a breeze swept over her heated skin. She shivered and his arm went around her to pull her into the warmth of his embrace kissing her on the temple as she had him a few moments ago. "We should go in."

~~O~~

Once inside again, Clint released Naomi so he could close and lock the doors watching as she crossed the room and went into the bathroom. The door shut with a small click leaving him with nothing to do but remember each and every moment of their first frenzied encounter. And with that he remembered something that he'd neglected in the heat of the moment.

In preparing for this night, he had stopped at the drug store. Going to his bag still sitting in the chair, he took out the box he'd placed there. It was unopened meaning that he hadn't protected Naomi as he'd planned. The thought that he might have made her pregnant left him with a mixture of physical and mental sensations. On the one hand, the vision of her narrow waist rounded with his child created an emotion within him that he had never experienced before. If he had to put a name to it he would say joy. No holds barred joy…and _terror_. What did _he_ know about babies? The one he had rescued was the first he'd ever held and she'd been so sweet, so trusting, looking up at him with those big blue eyes. What if, no matter what he said or did, or how well he taught him or her, his child trusted the wrong person and something terrible happened? How would he live with himself? And would Naomi hate him for it?

When the shower came on, the other hand came up to sock him in the jaw. The one where he spent most of his time "out of town" on "business" for the "family." He saw over and over the child they'd created together gazing at him with doubt when he came home changing to love and trust only to have it thrown back in his or her face when he left again. Then one day he would stop coming home just so he wouldn't have to see the tears he or she, and Naomi, would cry each time he closed the door. Shaking loose those thoughts, he looked up when she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a long white bathrobe, awkwardness creeping in to join them.

"Your turn. I mean, if you want to."

It took a moment for him to realize that Naomi was offering him the use of the bathroom. "Okay." They made an uncomfortable _pas a deux_ around each other and he was about to close the door when he thought better of it. They had to talk about this _now_. "Naomi."

"Yeah?" She had already gone into the bedroom and was standing beside the bed as if uncertain where to go next.

"I'm...sorry."

His words puzzled and irritated her at the same time. He could see it in her eyes and knew she thought he was apologizing for the loss of control. "Excuse me?"

Rushing to reassure her, he took a step in her direction while she did the same toward him. If that look in her eyes meant what he thought it meant, he would have to tread cautiously. "I don't for a single moment regret making love with you tonight." Would've been noticeable even to someone who didn't know her as well as he did. "What I _do_ regret, is that I forgot to protect you."

Clint watched emotions flit across her face one right after the other, no one staying long enough for him to identify. Then she surprised him by grinning. "You don't know how relieved I am to hear you say that."

"Sorry?"

"Now that we have finally gotten around to making love, you were done with me. That you would…leave. Have your fun and…" she shrugged.

In two steps she was in his arms again. "No. Never. I just want you to know that whatever happens…"

She stopped him by placing two fingers over his mouth then replaced them with her lips before he could continue. And as it had before, their thirst for each other came rising to the surface. This time, Naomi pulled away, her smile so warm and tender that he didn't know what to say.

"I've been using birth control for years, but not for this reason." She gestured between them. "They're for a medical condition though it's nothing you need worry about. The point is there's no cause for concern."

"Okay."

"Go take a shower and I'll be waiting for you. In there." Her head tilted in the direction of the bed, a sassy grin saying what was in store for him when he came out. She turned her back, untied the front of the robe and let it fall to the floor. Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a wicked grin. "Don't be long."

Clint didn't hear the last because he'd already gone into the bathroom and slammed the door. His clothes were tossed in the laundry basket as he started the water and dived under. He lathered his hair then his body, rinsed and shut off the water. Reaching for a towel, he vigorously rubbed his head, chest, back and legs then wrapped it around his waist. Naomi's comb lay on the shelf above the sink and he used it to bring some order to his hair.

Flipping out the light, he opened the door and went to lean in the bedroom doorway, his arms crossed and watching the woman he loved. She lay under the covers with just her bare arms and shoulders exposed. Her eyes, closed when he'd first entered, opened followed closely by a slow smile. "Whatcha got on under that towel, cowboy?"

"What'll you give me if I show you?"

"Anything you want."

~~O~~

"I'm not telling you anything." Joanne Hayes sat across from Phil Coulson with her arms crossed and a stubborn expression. Phil was certain he would wear her down. He always did. "I _want_ a lawyer."

"He's on his way. In the meantime, we'd like you to give us something. Anything." Again, she just stared, though deep inside, Phil could tell she was getting scared. And why not? She had tried to kill a federal agent and a civilian. The United States government didn't take such actions lightly. For now, Phil was letting Joanne think that Naomi was also an agent working undercover at the university.

"We don't want a lot, Dr. Hayes. Just who and why. What group are you with? Why did you target our agents?"

Joanne scoffed. "This was not politically motivated because I'm not associated with any political party."

"You don't exercise your right as an American citizen to have a say in how this country is run?"

"Like _I_ have a say. Like _any_ of us do. We vote adulterers, rapists and extortionists into office and complain when they don't do their jobs."

Phil folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Then why did you do it?"

Joanne laid her hands flat on the table and pressed her lips together and just like that her bravado disappeared and two little tears made tracks down her cheeks. She pushed the hair off her face and sniffed. "I did it for _him._"

"Agent Barton?"

Her soggy laugh almost made Phil sorry for her, but not enough to let her off the hook. He gestured and a moment later another agent entered with a glass of water and a box of tissues. "Oh _God_ no! You're going to laugh, but I don't actually know his name."

Injecting a note of sympathy into his voice, Phil asked, "Tell me about it." He reached across and laid his hand over one of hers. "Take your time."

"I first saw him in the food court at the university where I worked part time while getting my degree. He always got in my line and had the sweetest smile." She too smiled in remembrance. "To provide more personal service, we hand wrote the food orders. He always arrived at exactly eleven forty-five."

She played with the sleeve of her sweater looking for the band of the watch they had taken from her in booking. "He sat alone, writing in a notebook or reading. I don't know what his area of study was, but he was always kind. Always had a smile for me."

"Then why did you try to kill Agent Barton?"

A sound of frustration and emotional pain came from her. "Because he, the guy, I call him Mr. Fruit Salad because he had a bowl of fruit salad every day with his turkey and cheddar on rye. Because he wanted _her_." The amount of anger in that one word startled Phil, but he let her talk. "He wanted her and she treated him like he didn't exist. The look on his face the first time he saw them together was so…painful. I just wanted him to feel better. And I thought if I got rid of Barton then maybe Mr. Fruit Salad would have a shot."

"But why would you go to all this trouble for a man whose name you don't even know?"

The look she gave him was pitying. "Have you ever been in love Agent Coulson?"

"Once. A long time ago."

"Then you understand. I wanted Fruit Salad Guy, _he_ wanted Naomi DeLuca and she wanted your agent. The logical thing to do was to get rid of your guy and everything would go back to the way it was." Phil kept his expression neutral as she continued. "It was the only way."

Phil nodded as if he understood her twisted sense of logic. "You do realize that if the bomb had gone off when it was supposed to that both Agent Barton _and_ Ms. DeLuca would be dead."

"That thought had crossed my mind." She flashed him a bright smile. "Then he would have been mine. Pity that didn't work out."

~~O~~

Moving to the side of the bed, Clint knelt on the edge leaning down to kiss Naomi. Lingering, but not intruding though she did make the offer. When that offer turned into a demand, he stopped. Pushing to his feet, he smiled affectionately at her. "Be right back."

Holding the covers to her chest, she demanded, "Where are you _going?_"

He came back quickly looking quite pleased with himself. Standing beside the bed again, he took a moment to just look at her. Hair disheveled, make up gone, eyes wide as if she were pleasantly surprised. Well, he was as well. More than pleasantly. It had been more than a year since he had vowed celibacy, but that wasn't the reason this first time with Naomi had been so potent. It was all about _her_ and the hunger that had built within him _for_ her over the last few months. No, it hadn't been immediate, though he had been attracted to her from the start. The hunger had come later.

Naomi put an end to his reflections by curling her hand into the edge of the damp towel around his hips and tugging on the corner holding it in place. The green terrycloth fell to the floor as she lifted the covers inviting him to join her and he did. He rolled over on his right side, left leg falling in between her thighs, his arms wrapping her in his embrace again. Ducking his head, he nuzzled her neck making her gasp. "Where-oh! Where did you-mmm…go?"

In between kissing, and lightly scraping her skin with his teeth he told her, "Making sure…"

"Ahhh! Making sure what?" Naomi's long breathless sigh told him that she more than enjoyed what he was doing and that it was having the desired effect. She had been still, the only movements she made had been to embrace him and respond to his touch. But little by little, the rest of her became involved.

"That we aren't interrupted this time."

The softness of her touch was almost more than he could take. Naomi sighed once again when he sucked on the skin at the base of her throat before following the contours of her clavicle. "They do and I will kill them myself! With your gun. The big one!"

Clint smiled against her skin as they again navigated the seas of their yearning. What was left of his mind reflected that the two of them fit together so well, like interlocking pieces of a complicated puzzle that had suddenly fallen into place.

After their first frenzied coupling, he would make sure to take his time, to thoroughly explore every inch of the woman who had not only captured his heart, but his body and soul as well.

Lifting his head, he kissed her lips again feeling the barely controlled passion threatening to break loose once more. Reigning in his urge to rush, he set about doing everything he could to please her, slowly, and with astonishing thoroughness.

Much later, when all their energy had been spent, Clint held Naomi close, his hand lazily caressing up and down her arm. His eyes drifted shut and he was about to fall asleep when her palm pressed against his chest over his heart.

"I knew we would end up here, just like this."

"In bed together?"

Her cheek rested against his shoulder. "Mm-hmm. And…you know. The rest of it."

His hand moved down to wrap around her waist. "Yeah. Me too. When did _you_ know? The rest of it, I mean."

"The day you taught me how to shoot a bow and arrow. You?"

_She _does_ love me!_ Inside, his heart seemed lighter and warmer, though he wasn't sure what to think about the when for her because he had known he loved her… "Since you almost choked on that hot dog."

And though he knew she was surprised, not only that he loved her, but that it had happened for him before it had happened for her, he didn't care. She loved him, and that was all that mattered.

~~O~~

The morning dawned bright and sunny with unseasonably warm temperatures which melted the snow turning it into a black slushy mess that would refreeze when the next cold front came through Thursday evening. But for the occupants of 2E at the Elmwood Apartments the outside world didn't exist. Oh, it would make itself known soon enough, and then it would be back to reality. But for now, they were content just to sleep in each other's arms.

A shaft of light peeked through the curtains, crept across the floor and up the side of the bed to warm the foot sticking out from under the covers. The toenails had been painted bright red with delicate flowers on the big toes. Those toes wiggled and were pulled back under to rub against its mate before continuing back to touch a pair of much larger masculine feet.

As the last remnants of sleep slipped away, Naomi began to feel an intermittent tickle against her right shoulder. She listened carefully and realized when she heard Clint's deep breathing that the cause was his breaths hitting her skin. His hand rested on her bare stomach over her navel in a possessive way that hadn't been present until last night. By far, it had been the best night she had ever spent with any man…ever.

_We need to do this more often!_

Naomi would have spent the entire day wrapped in Clint's arms, but a biological imperative asserted itself telling her she couldn't wait for him to awaken on his own before making a trip to bathroom. Using a lock of hair, she tickled his nose. His hand rubbed the area and as soon as his arm was gone, she slipped out of bed, shoving her feet into slippers, slipping into her robe and retrieving the towel he had dropped the night before.

Holding the still damp towel, she smiled as the memories of their time together flooded her now awake brain. She hung the towel over a chair to dry before putting it in the laundry basket. And naturally that led her to wonder if he would want to take a shower with her when he woke up.

Her morning routine begun, Naomi went to the hall closet for fresh towels and as she was hanging them on the rods, she noticed Clint's clothes from the night before in her basket of dirty laundry looking as if they belonged there.

With enough to start a load of clothes, she carried the basket to the small closet off the kitchen. After starting the coffee, she set the dial on the washer, but didn't start it. She added soap and one of those balls filled with fabric softener then started adding items, leaving his clothes for last.

Holding up his pants, she removed the belt and set it aside. She had to check the pockets, but felt it would be an invasion of his privacy to do so without his permission. Making love to every inch of him was one thing. Going through his pockets was another, but it had to be done.

She patted each pocket and was relieved to find only a handful of change. He obviously kept his wallet and that penknife of his in his jacket along with the keys to his truck. After checking the label, she added the pants to the rest of the load, closed the top and almost screamed when a pair of strong arms snaked around her waist from behind.

"Hey." Clint's lips kissed along her neck to her ear. He had taken clothes from his bag and gotten dressed. Just T-shirt and boxers, but at least the chill of the morning would be somewhat alleviated.

Turning within the circle of his arms, her smile matched his. "Good morning."

"Are you _kidding?_" His exclamation and the look on his face, greatly overplayed, left absolutely no question that he disagreed with her. "I woke up this morning with my arms around a beautiful woman with whom I had the enormous pleasure of spending the night making love. _This_ is a _great_ morning."

"Great morning then." They kissed and it was sweet. Not too much, and not too little. "Why don't you take a shower? The coffee will be done when you get out."

"One condition."

"And that is?"

Clint's mouth did something incredible to her neck eliciting a gasp. "Join me."

He didn't have to ask twice. Pulling out of his arms, she said, "Race ya!" and was off.

Catching up with her in the hall, he swung her around so that he was now in the lead. She squealed in pretend outrage reaching the bathroom a half step behind. The door slammed and moments later they were under the hot spray.

~~O~~

"Your mother lives in the Hamptons?" Clint would have consulted a map, but Naomi knew the way so he trusted her to navigate.

"Southampton, to be exact. The largest of the villages," Naomi corrected. "The residents are _very_ territorial."

He slowed down to let another vehicle onto the I-495 headed east then picked up speed again, pushing past the posted limits. "So your family is well off."

"I suppose. It's just Mother and me. But you already knew that." The reminder of the background check he had done on her seemed to say that he'd been forgiven, that she had understood the necessity. "She's a self-made millionaire. Sapphire Productions. Mother named it after her favorite gemstone."

As they neared the cutoff for NY-27 for the final leg of the trip, Naomi leaned toward him, resting her hand on his thigh. "You might want to slow down a bit as we get closer to the city."

"Why?"

"Because you're going ninety in a sixty, and the cops around here have _no_ sense of humor." The engine whined as he eased off the accelerator. He was still going fast, but closer to the posted limit. Music played softly, a gentle background to their conversation. "Not nervous about meeting her, are you?"

As soon as she mentioned her mother, his fingers started drumming on the steering wheel. "A little. What does your mother do? The bio I got from Phil didn't specify."

~~O~~

"Take the next exit and turn right at the first light." To stall, Naomi took a sip from the fountain drink she had gotten at their last stop. The timing had to just right or it would take all the fun out of Clint's reaction. Plus she didn't want him to crash his new truck on the highway. "I'm surprised you don't recognize her."

"Should I?"

Naomi tilted her head side to side thinking. "She used to be sort of an actress."

"How can you be 'sort of' an actress?"

She grinned knowing what was coming and that it would be a sight to behold. "She used to be a porn star."

**TBC**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris. Thanks for my b-day gift and the gift of your friendship._  
_

_Gracias,_

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 21**

Clint slammed on the brakes, the truck skidding toward the curb in front of the corner gas station. When they came to a stop, Naomi had both hands on the dash and Clint was staring at her as if she had gone stark raving nuts. Anything that was loose ended up on the floorboard. "Ex-_cuse_ me?"

Saying it slower this time so he would understand, she repeated, "Before I was born, she was a porn star. She invested wisely and when she gave up life in front of the camera, she had a nice little nest egg that was put to use buying the production company and building it into a multi-million dollar company that ships internationally to twenty-two different countries."

"Wait!" He turned sideways in his seat, restricted by the seatbelt. "Are you seriously telling me that your _mother_ used to work as a…as a…"

"Porn star. Yes. You should have seen my sixth grade teacher's face when Mother came for career day. Parents protested and Mother took me out of school two days later to home school me until I graduated high school."

Still unable to wrap his head around the fact of Naomi's mother's former and current professions, Clint faced forward, both hands clenched on the wheel. As if in slow motion, he turned back onto the road and started driving again wishing he hadn't asked.

As houses in the Hamptons went, the DeLuca home was not exceptionally large or overly ornate. A long driveway led guests through a painstakingly maintained garden. Others might have been tempted to line the drive with sculpted topiary, but none were to be seen. The design was simple yet tasteful.

The exterior of the Italian Mediterranean style home was elegant in white with a short set of stairs that brought one to a covered vestibule. The windows were arched at the top, sheer curtains covered by heavy drapes could be seen though at the moment they were open to let in the light.

Several vehicles were already parked near the doors forcing Clint and Naomi to walk. The front door opened and a woman came running toward them. The charcoal gray skirt was belted and resting low on her hips, the hem brushing her ankles. A black sweater with a lighter gray blouse underneath topped it off. The shoes on her feet were Italian with low heels. She wore only one ring on her right hand, a watch on her left wrist and was joined by a short necklace and short dangle earrings, all in platinum embedded with sapphires.

Though he had little experience with jewelry, even he could tell the gems were the real thing. He leaned close to Naomi and whispered, "This is where you grew up?"

"We moved here when I was eight, so yes." Something of what he was feeling had to have shown in his face because she touched his arm. "What's wrong?"

"When you said your family was well off, I didn't expect this."

Naomi brushed imaginary lint from the front of his jacket, gave his face a critical onceover then turned as the running footsteps came to a stop, her smile growing to span her entire face. "Mother!"

"Welcome home!" The older woman drew Naomi into a hug and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm so glad to see you, sweetheart."

"You too, Mother."

Clint stood off to the side not wanting to intrude on their greeting. He looked at the grass, trees, birds, anything but the women. That is until he felt _he_ was being watched. "Wanna introduce me to your friend?"

"Mother, I'd like you to meet Clint Coulson. Clint, my mother, Gina DeLuca."

Clint nodded a greeting with the handshake. "Ms. DeLuca."

Gina clasped his proffered hand in both of hers looking him up and down with brazen interest. "Oh, please call me Gina. Naomi, dear, you know very well that auditions are by appointment and _only_ at the studio, though I am willing to make an exception…just this once."

Clint choked and tugged at his collar.

"Mother! Clint is my _date_." Naomi protested on his behalf, clasping his hand and pulling him along as Gina started for the house.

The older woman gave him the once over again then went back for seconds and thirds. "Too bad you aren't in the market for a job, honey. With your assets, you could've been set for life."

Bewildered by the statement, Clint could only smile uneasily. He kept walking, the women dropping back. They were probably talking about him, so he walked a little faster to give them privacy.

~~O~~

Lowering her voice, Naomi said, "It's Thanksgiving, Mother. I asked you _not_ to talk about work."

"Sorry, darling, but the company is what's paying for your education." She once again ogled Clint's backside. "Besides, we are always looking for new talent. So what _does_ he do?"

Naomi hesitated before giving her mother the cover story, as Clint had called it. "He's a cop taking a sabbatical to attend college."

"Oh, even better. I'm getting ideas already. He could be a country sheriff out on a lonely stretch of road in the middle of the night when a beautiful blond in a Rolls passes him doing ninety. He pulls her over and…"

"Mother! Please!"

Gina fluttered her hands in surrender. "Fine! No shop talk." She hurried to catch up with Clint, taking his elbow and leaning against his side. "So Clint, how long have you been sleeping with my daughter?"

All Naomi could do was shake her head and hope Clint was not put off by her mother's boldness.

Clint glanced over his shoulder at her with a question. "Three…" making a stretching motion, she silently asked him to lie about how long they had been together, "…months."

"Well, I'm so happy that you could join us for the holiday. Just out of curiosity why aren't you with _your_ family?"

Inhaling sharply, Naomi realized that she had forgotten to tell her mother not to bring up Clint's family then stopped that thought. Today was a day to spend with family and the fact that he was here and not elsewhere should have spoken for itself.

"Don't have a family, ma'am."

"Gina, please. 'Ma'am' is for your grandmother and the president of the United States, as soon as this great nation gets its head out of its…"

"Naomi, darling! Is that _you?_"

Turning at the sound of a familiar voice, Naomi saw her mother's friend Jared Fox striding quickly up the drive. He and his partner lived next door so he frequently walked over. He swept her into a long squishy hug. "Jared!"

"_What_ have you been doing, girl? _You_ are _glowing!_"

"Uh…"

Gina presented her cheek for a kiss. "She's been doing this package of incredible hotness. Clint, this is our very good friend and neighbor, Jared Fox."

Jared's eyes widened as he took in the sight of Clint as Naomi went to his side. "Girl! He is _fabulous!_"

She gave his elbow a squeeze of apology for his abrupt introduction to the other part of her life. Knowing he didn't care for overt displays of affection in public, she had expected some discomfort at the gesture. Instead, he placed his hand over hers, returning her smile with an lopsided grin. "_I'm_ the lucky one." He extended his free hand. "Clint Coulson. Nice to meet you, Jared."

"My pleasure." His smile and the way he looked Clint up and down said he liked what he saw. Clint chuckled and mentally shook his head.

But Jared wasn't done. He walked around Clint, this time with the critical eye of a designer. "I love this whole bad boy thing you have going on. The hair, the goatee, leather jacket, faded jeans and scuffed boots look is so you."

"Jared, it's not a 'look'. This is how he always dresses. He's a _cop_, not a district attorney."

"Oh, I like it, darling. Don't get me wrong. It's so…_je ne sais quoi._" Naomi's fingers dug into his bicep in warning and he wisely didn't respond to Jared's poor attempt at speaking French.

"Let's go in before we freeze." Gina rubbed her hands together, smiling up at Jared when he wrapped a long arm around her shoulders and she settled an arm around his waist. "Where's Mason?"

Sighing as if the world had landed on his shoulders, Jared feigned disappointment. "His mother is _still_ upset with me because I told her best friend that a fuchsia mini was a fashion no-no. Especially since she did _not_ have the legs for it. When you're a size sixteen, you shouldn't be dressing as if you were a size six."

~~O~~

Jared Fox stood six feet two with a lean build, blue eyes and a full head of hair that was still blond in spite of his age which Clint estimated at late forties to very early fifties. "What do you do, Jared?"

"_I _am the owner and CEO of Fabrizia Clothing Designs. I also do some of the actual designing, just to keep my skills sharp."

In the entry hall, Clint tried not to stare at the stylish furnishings, most of which were antiques or near enough not to matter. Apparently Gina reveled in having money, but did not feel that her possessions defined her. She obviously chose pieces that she enjoyed and had managed to make it all fit together in a way that worked quite well. It was all just a little overwhelming for a guy who grew up sleeping in a tent next to a tiger cage, the smell of sawdust, manure and cotton candy a constant presence. He hadn't known what "fresh air" smelled like until he'd left the Coney Island Circus.

A long staircase curved around and up to the second floor. If it had been made of Italian marble, the effect would have been showy and overdone, but the chocolate brown runner to offset the lighter brown wood made it look homey, cozy. Clint had heard a home like this called a "starter" mansion.

Paintings hung on the walls. Local artists, if Clint had read her right. He also knew that the places she would splurge would be bedrooms and the kitchen. Being Italian, she was probably an amazing cook, though that was a stereotype. But he had faith in is ability to read people and knew he was right.

"Naomi, dear. I've given you and your man the big bedroom in the back. It's just been remodeled."

"But we hadn't planned on staying the night. I have work to catch up on and Clint…"

Gina stopped her daughter's excuses by starting the climb up the stairs. "Nonsense. It's a long drive and I know you're both tired. Go take a nap and Francine will wake you an hour or so before dinner."

Clint exchanged an I-told-you-so glance with Naomi. Before setting out on their road trip, they'd had a disagreement about whether or not to stay over. He had no experience with holiday dinners and thought it would be expected for a family event that they would stay at least a night or two.

Naomi disagreed saying that she could only take so much of her mother in one sitting. In the end, they had compromised. They would bring overnight bags with enough clothes for three days, not taking them in unless they were invited to stay. Naomi hadn't liked that option any more than the first, but didn't fight his reasoning.

With a grand gesture, Gina opened the double doors at the end of the upstairs hall. Clint couldn't help the awe filled exclamation as he stepped into the room. "Wow."

The parquet floors shone as if just polished. The warm sepia brown of the wood contrasted with the darker color of the wardrobe, nightstands, dresser and vanity. A sitting area was formed by matching sofa and armchair in cream shot with bronze threads running through the material. Several pillows were scattered randomly over the sofa and chair. The glass topped coffee table was supported by wrought iron bent inward to give it an interesting shape that matched the bed frame.

A fireplace already set with logs awaited only the touch of a match to the kindling to blaze into life. Clint pictured a thick blanket spread over the floor, a soft place for Naomi and him to make love all night.

A Persian rug in the same colors as the sofa and chair left much of the wood exposed, the variations in shading giving the illusion of haphazardness that does not exist in nature.

The bed held a place of honor in the shorter bend of the L on top of a matching area rug. Bedding made from Egyptian cotton covered the king sized bed, the comforter thick and warm for those cold nights. Peeking out the top, he could see sheets in shades of blue. Not a light blues that would be too bright for the rest of the furnishings, but not so dark as to give a great contrast that would prevent restful sleep.

Not knowing what to say, he simply nodded his approval of the room as if he'd just checked into a luxury hotel. It seemed like it was expected and he didn't want to disappoint.

~~O~~

The look of shock on Clint's face might have been funny if Naomi hadn't known some of his history. Granted she didn't know it all, but he couldn't have seen anything near what he'd seen today. The fact that he had grown up with little and she had grown up with everything she could ever want didn't make her love him any more _or_ any less. She would love him regardless.

His blue-gray eyes took everything in with fascination and her mother waited for his response with wry amusement. Naomi laced her fingers with Clint's to get his attention. He squeezed almost to the point of pain, the only other expression of emotion he allowed then he looked down at her and she smiled.

"I love what you've done with the room, Mother."

"It was designed with you in mind. I've always wanted you to bring a man home with you."

Naomi snorted. "Mother! You act like I've never…"

"That is because you never have, my dear." Gina patted her cheek as she passed, closing the doors as she went. "You should rest after your drive."

The glint in Gina's eyes put Naomi on alert as only a mother could. "What have you done?"

"I've invited a few friends to share Thanksgiving dinner with us so they wouldn't have to spend it alone. Bye."

Clint tossed a glance over his shoulder, released his hold on Naomi's hand so that he could explore. The room was L-shaped and he stuck his head around the corner to check out the bathroom. The door stood ajar, the white tile floor glistening in the light coming from the sitting area that led to a balcony. From what he could see, the ensuite was bigger than his apartment in New York City.

"I'm sorry." Naomi touched him on the arm, her brown eyes telegraphing her apology with the words.

"For?"

"Mother. She has this habit of saying what she's thinking without thinking. And for…" she indicated the room, "…this. She obviously thinks we're living together."

"It's fine." He smiled and took her in his arms, rubbing his cheek on the top of her head. "I like her. She's very…"

"Outspoken?"

"It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't hide her feelings." He felt her relief where their bodies touched. "I'll go to the truck and get our bags."

She rolled her eyes, at herself it seemed. "You're not going to gloat?"

"No." He pulled her close again and kissed her until they were both breathless. "When I get back, we will talk about that nap your mother suggested." With a wink and an irresistible grin, he left her alone.

~~O~~

"I can do it, Francine," Naomi insisted. However, the housekeeper refused to relinquish the clothing she held in her arms. Clint's shirt and pants had wrinkled on the trip down and the two women were arguing over whose job it was to iron them.

"Tizzie will do it and bring them back in just a few minutes." The water in the shower shut off and Clint came out, a towel slung low on his hips. Francine averted her eyes and scurried out of the room.

Again, his eyes twinkled with suppressed amusement when she faced him, hands on her hips. "Clint Coulson, you did that on purpose."

"How else could I get her to leave us alone?" He used a second towel to dry his hair then twisted it into a rope and looped it around her waist to bring her closer. "She'll survive."

Naomi draped her arms over his shoulders, reaching up to kiss him. It was meant to be just a quick peck of gratitude, but it changed, became filled with need and want for both of them.

Clint raised his head when someone knocked on the door, muttering an oath under his breath that made Naomi laugh. She went to the door, waiting until he had gone into the bathroom before opening it. "What now, Mother?"

"Our guests will be arriving soon. Will you and Clint be down shortly or have you decided to be fashionably late?"

"We'll be on time. Francine is having Clint's clothes ironed."

Gina leaned to the side, craning her neck to see around her and Naomi thwarted her each time frustrating her. "Good. I want the two of you to sit next to me so I can get to know him during dinner."

Naomi's eyes narrowed, suspicion tickling at her brain. "Why?"

"Because a mother wants to get to know the man who is such an important part of her daughter's life."

"We are not engaged, Mother. We're just…together. At least for now." She touched Gina on the hand. "And you'll be the first to know if it changes one way or the other."

"Of course I will." Gina turned, her full skirt swishing around her legs. "See you downstairs."

Before Naomi could close the door, a slender Hispanic girl came up the back staircase with the clothing that had just been taken away. Though only a few minutes had passed, the clothes were now wrinkle free.

"Here you are, Miss."

"Naomi, please. You must be Tizzie."

The dark haired girl smiled shyly, ducking her head. "Yes, Miss Naomi. It's a nickname. Short for Tiziana."

"That is a lovely name. Thank you for taking care of this." Naomi held up the clothes.

"You're welcome." The girl hurried away, her footsteps echoing down the stairs. Going to the bathroom door, Naomi heard Clint humming and blushed when she recognized it as _Amazed_ because of the memories it brought of their first time together. Had that only been a few days ago? And that led her to wonder where they were going. Not that she wanted the relationship to change from what it was at the moment.

While she pondered, she hung Clint's clothes outside the bathroom and carried her dress to the bed. Taking off the robe, she slipped the long sleeved turtleneck sweater dress over her head and pulled it down around her hips. All that was needed were shoes and jewelry. Her diamond and pearl teardrop earrings set into platinum were paired with a long chain pendant, the pearl nestled into the lower loop of an infinity symbol and the top loop speckled with tiny diamonds.

One last check in the mirror to make sure her chignon was still intact, the pearl and diamond comb pushed into the side, and she was ready to go. Now all she needed was Clint to come out of the bathroom, get dressed and they could go down.

Just as that though appeared, so did he, his hair neatly combed, or as neatly as it ever was, in boxers and nothing else. He had carefully trimmed his goatee so that the edges were clean and sharp, not shabby the way some men wore them with the mistaken idea that it made them look ruggedly handsome.

Thinking back, Naomi brought to mind his way of moving, his mannerisms and gestures, how he walked. Precise, even his moments of awkwardness, all due to his life in the circus, no doubt. He had once told her he hadn't missed a target since he was thirteen. The freerunning he'd done in the race with Alston had shown off his tightrope and acrobatic abilities. And to still be alive, one had to be absolutely certain where you were going to place your next step.

"I'll be ready in a few minutes. Go on down, if you want."

"And let you walk into a pit of vipers all by yourself? Not on your life."

~~O~~

Clint saw Naomi standing in front of the mirror and his heart stopped just for a moment. She looked so beautiful putting on her earrings and turning her head side to side making the dangles swing. The matching necklace hung between her breasts. It swayed with her gentle movements drawing his eyes.

Continuing down, the knit material of her black dress skimmed over her curves ending just above her knees. He strolled through his memories of their nights of making love and just spending time together alone with nothing and no one to distract them.

"I won't be long."

While Clint dressed, Naomi walked over to the balcony doors. He could see her reflection in the mirror as he got dressed. In the years since his parents had died, he hadn't celebrated any holidays, but this year was different. This year he did it to honor the people that had made Naomi who she was because they were the reason he'd fallen in love with her.

It was sunny but cold, normal for this time of year according to the weather man on a local affiliate. And seeing her standing in a pool of bright sunlight gave her the appearance of being otherworldly, like a Greek goddess.

Naomi turned just as he was tucking in his shirt. He didn't have a tie, so he hoped his black silk dress slacks, shirt and jacket would be acceptable.

"You look great, but you _do_ want to wow Mother's guests, right?"

"I guess." Her slow, semi-shy smile told _she_ wanted him to wow the guests and anything _he_ could do to make that happen, he would do.

"Then we need to let them see just a hint of the bad boy that I know you are."

He'd buttoned the shirt up to his neck leaving just the top one undone. She unbuttoned his shirt, had him remove the T-shirt he wore under it then put the shirt back on, letting her do up the buttons, leaving the top two open. His pants were already undone and he just let her work as she tucked his shirt in then did up the front of his pants. Whether by accident or on purpose, her fingers bumped against him causing a predictable reaction. With a smirk, he said, "You keep doing that and we won't get to dinner on time."

"Mmm. Sounds like fun. But if we don't come down, Mother will either come after us herself or send someone else." She fastened the cuffs and adjusted the collar, brushing her hands down his chest.

Taking her hands in his, he kissed the fingers. "You keep doing _that_ and we won't get to dinner _at all._"

Laughing, she slapped his arm and turned him to face the mirror again. Considering his reflection, he was startled that the subtle differences she'd made had transformed him into a debonair man about town yet he still retained that bad boy look he knew she loved. "Looks good. Thanks. What about the hair?"

"Hmm." Going into the bathroom, Naomi returned with a comb and a small bottle of hair gel. A few minutes later, he looked again. She had mussed his painstakingly arranged style giving him a windblown appearance, using the gel to keep it in place. "All done. You are now ready to mix and mingle with some of the wealthiest people in Southampton and knock their socks off."

Clint put his jacket on, tugged the cuffs into place then extended his elbow. Naomi clasped her long fingers just below his bicep. "Shall we?"

~~O~~

More nervous that she had been since her first ballet recital, Naomi switched her hold from Clint's elbow to his hand. Coming down the stairs, she felt his anxiety too. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. "Here's where the fun begins."

Music and laughter could be heard coming from the kitchen and dining area. "How many people did she invite?"

"Don't worry. You'll be great."

"You too. Ready?"

~~O~~

For an answer, Clint opened the door, guided Naomi through with a hand on the small of her back then followed her in. Jared was leaning on the mantel over the fireplace, set with a stack of real wood but not lit, a drink in one hand as he talked to two very attractive women in their forties. The first to see them, the designer paused in mid-sentence. Clint already knew that Jared found him attractive though it didn't bother him. It was what Jared _did_ that had Clint fighting mild embarrassment. Jared started _singing_. "Bad boys, bad boys. Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"

**TBC**

**A/N: **"Bad Boys" is the title of a song by the reggae band Inner Circle, made popular by the television program COPS, where it is played during the opening title sequence, while an instrumental version is played during the end credits.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 22**

Jared drew the attention of everyone in the room by giving voice to the theme song from the popular reality show _Cops_, and if Clint had been less secure in his sense of self, he might have run. He did have the urge, but his training kicked in and instead of scowling, he gave the room his most charming smile. "Let's give it up for Jared, everyone!" Clint applauded encouraging the others to do the same. "Thanks for coming. He'll be here all week."

The others laughed at Clint's quip as Gina rushed forward, to greet them. She kissed Naomi on the cheek then did the same to Clint, much to his surprise. "Ignore Jared, Clint. He's just annoyed that I've given you his usual seat at the table."

Jared joined them, holding a cup of coffee laced with Bailey's Irish Cream. "Where I have had the honor of serving as your escort for many a soirée over the years, my dear. And now that honor will go…" he put a hand over his chest and bowed, "…to you, my good man."

Clint took the gesture for what it was, a sincere passing of the baton, and returned it. His conscience twinged telling him that Gina and the others were all assuming that his relationship with Naomi would continue beyond a few months. However, the truth that none of them knew was that the chances of him being able to continue to fulfill that position were very slim once he was officially made a full time agent. Then Jared gestured at Clint's attire. "That is a _very_ good look for you."

Clint's natural inclination in social situations was to stand about the periphery observing others with a drink in his hand and only speaking when spoken to. But that had been before SHIELD and all that annoying training. He'd learned to blend into almost any environment, and made a mental note to thank Coulson sometime far in the future when they'd both retired and were too old to remember.

He pulled Naomi close to his side, looking at her with affection. "It's all due to Naomi. _She_ is the one who made certain that a boy who grew up with a bunch of clowns didn't dress like one."

"You talk like that about your foster family?"

Naomi had told him that she'd given her mother a basic rundown of the history of Clint, even if she hadn't read all the chapters herself. Apparently she'd left a few details out. Gina's shocked and annoyed expression reached out and pushed at him making him feel bad for saying it though it was true while compelling him to explain.

"Never had a foster family, ma'am. When I was twelve, I ran away from the orphanage and joined the circus."

The shock on Jared's face would've made the clown troop dance with glee and even Clint had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud.

"Oh." Gina too was surprised at his admission. "You've led quite the life, haven't you?"

"I have indeed, Gina." _You don't know the half of it, and neither does your daughter._

Her smile was the same one that he had seen on Naomi's face that first day. He echoed it back, following obediently when she turned him toward the crowd. "Hey, everyone. This is Naomi's boyfriend, Clint. Clint, this everyone. Go. Mingle. Have a drink and I'll check on dinner."

Though Clint was certain that Gina had meant it as a request, it had the force of an executive order. "Yes, ma'am." She mock glared at him when he winked at her.

~~O~~

FBI agents Troy Bishop and Gabby Lewis drove through the city on the way to the outskirts of Brooklyn. Lewis pulled to a stop in front of an old but well-kept home. It was small, the front yard about the size of a postage stamp surrounded by a chain link fence with a gate. Bishop let himself out then waited for Lewis to join him on the sidewalk before opening the gate and climbing the steps to the front door.

He rang the bell and waited. It took a while for someone to respond and he was about to ring again when it finally opened. The woman was slightly chubby, white haired and holding a bottle of Miller Lite.

"Yeah?"

Both agents reached into their pockets and pulled out their ID's. "Gladys Vernon?"

Her blue eyes flicked from Bishop to Lewis and back. "Yeah."

"I'm Special Agent Bishop and this is Special Agent Lewis of the FBI. Could we have a few minutes of your time?"

Lewis shifted her feet. "We promise to make it brief."

Gladys crossed her arms and waited. "Go ahead."

"Could we do this inside?"

The older woman pushed open the screen door then led them to the living room. In here as in the yard, everything was well cared for if a little old. Gladys used the remote to turn off the television and nodded for the agents to have a seat on the sofa. Reaching into her inside jacket pocket, Lewis produced a photo. "Do you know this woman?"

Gladys glanced at the photo then gave it back. "Yes. She used to work for me. Joanne something. _Very_ strange girl."

Bishop did not change his expression. "Strange in what way?"

"Not sure. I just got the feeling that she had something not quite right goin' on upstairs." She tapped the side of her head. "Why? Is she in some kind of trouble?"

"We are not at liberty to say. Do you by any chance remember her speaking to a gentleman that she called Fruit Salad Guy?"

The older woman rolled her eyes and huffed. "_Him_ I remember too. Every day he had to have a fruit salad with exactly five red grapes, five pieces of cantaloupe, ten chunks of pineapple and two strawberries. Joanne insisted on waiting on him personally when he came in."

The agents exchanged a glance, Lewis continuing. "Do you by any chance know this man's name?"

"Yeah. He works at the university in the psychology research. Dr. Gary Decker. He had a thing for one of his colleagues, if I remember right. A very attractive African-American girl. I doubt she felt the same though. Most days they were in the food court at the same time, but he would sit alone and just watch her, pretending to read."

"He never approached her in public?"

"Not that I saw. Oh! Once I saw him put a flower on her table when she got up to get a refill. The poor man pined for that woman and never even knew that Joanne was right there waiting for him to notice her."

Gladys stood when the agents did, each shaking her hand. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Vernon."

Bishop nodded once. "And please don't mention our visit to anyone."

"Okay. Fine."

Lewis already had her phone out and was waiting for Coulson to answer by the time they reached the car. She got in, buckled her seatbelt with one hand. "Hey boss. We got a name…Gary Decker…Get this, he works in psych research with DeLuca…" She snapped her fingers and Bishop handed her a pen and pad, scribbling the information Coulson was giving her. "Great. Thanks, boss. Send us some back-up and we'll bring him in…Just doing our jobs, sir."

Lewis heard the snap of Bishop's phone closing. He shoved it into his jacket pocket then started the car before putting on his seatbelt, noticing she was looking at him. "What?"

"We're on the trail of a stalker and you're making personal calls?"

He shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb before responding. "Had to call Mom to let her know I'll be late for Thanksgiving dinner."

They drove for a few minutes then Lewis asked, "You still seeing that girl?"

"Estelle?" Bishop shook his head. "Went our separate ways."

Lewis added extra magazines to her pockets already getting into attack mode. "Sorry to hear that."

"_I_ wasn't. She was getting too…"

"Clingy? Needy? The sex wasn't good?"

Bishop spared his partner a glance when he stopped for a light. "Possessive. I couldn't even call my _partner_, without her thinking I was cheating on her. Broke it off when she hacked my email account."

"Ouch! How'd she take it?"

"Spray painted my car. A sixty-nine Mustang I've had since I was seventeen and cost me two _grand_ to have it repainted." He covered his mouth with his left hand and coughed several times.

Concerned for her partner, Lewis asked, "You okay, Troy?"

"I'm _fine_, Gab. It's just my allergies. They always act up this time of year."

"It's been going on for weeks now. You should see a doctor."

Her partner didn't respond immediately. Then, "Heads up. We're almost there. Call and check on our back-up."

Taking out her phone, Lewis made the call.

~~O~~

The kitchen in the DeLuca home was the most amazing that Clint had ever seen. The area was round, with curved marble topped free-standing and built-in counters. The cabinets were made of a medium brown wood with an old fashioned flair that somehow complimented the modern appliances. There was a table in the middle with enough seating for four making it an intimate setting that could be casual or elegant. One of the free-standing sections had barstools in wrought iron with thickly cushioned seats.

Above the curved counter to the left hung cabinets with beautiful crystal and china, probably Wedgewood. At least he hoped it was because that would suit Gina's personality. Ivies draped their glossy leaves over the sides of their planters, though he was as sure as he could be that they were silk. Another splash of color to offset the browns.

An enormous ceiling fan was inset above the center table with a chandelier in the same wrought iron and the light fixtures were frosted glass with the flickering bulbs to create the illusion of candles. Matching fixtures hung over the bar counter. Off to the right was an open doorway through which Clint could see shelves with silver serving sets and linens for entertaining. Another door in the back had to go to the pantry, and to the left yet was another doorway that may have gone to the laundry room or perhaps a wine cellar. He couldn't be sure without asking.

The warm browns were interspersed randomly with small points of soft red, orange and green to lend just a little color to the area drawing the eye to various interesting features. He'd been certain that Gina would indulge in the perfect gourmet kitchen and had been right.

Jared called his name and he joined the only other man in the group to be introduced to each of the women present. And he did it with a genuine smile on his face. However, when they reached the woman dressed in red, she stared at him in such a predatory fashion that it made him uncomfortable though he let none of that show in his manner or voice.

"…and this is Suzanne Dupree. Suzanne, Clint."

Clint took Suzanne's proffered hand, bowing over it in a courtly manner. "A pleasure, Suzanne."

She lowered her lashes coyly then returned his intense gaze. "We'll see."

Not sure how to take that, Clint just smiled and moved on to the next introduction.

~~O~~

Naomi stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching Clint. He was standing by the fireplace surrounded by women of all ages. Tiffany, Trina, Dixie, Erica, Sally, Suzanne, Missy and Blanche seemed to be fascinated by him. But whether it was due to the fact that he was the first man she had ever brought home for the holidays, that he was regaling them with stories of his life with the circus or that he was oozing charm, she didn't know.

Her mother came up beside her, a measuring cup in one hand. "_L'ommene sole m'ezz a tant dame, fa la fijure de lu' salame._" (A man alone among a large group of women has the look of a salami.)

"Clint can take care of himself, Mother. And just so you know, he speaks Italian, French _and_ Spanish so watch what you say and how you say it."

"Of course. Now please stop staring at that man of yours and come help."

Naomi sighed. "Coming, Mother." She moved her mother's side. "What do you need me to do?"

Gina handed her an apron, took a baking pan from under the counter and set it on top. "Cut up and peel the sweet potatoes then put them in the baking dish."

Naomi set about the task assigned to her casting the occasional glance at Clint. Clementine Brady, the nonagenarian Grande dame of Southampton, was seated close to the fireplace. It was the most comfortable of the chairs. Kind to her old body and the easiest for her to get out of.

Clint was sitting on an ottoman in front of her, listening intently while Clementine no doubt told him a story of her childhood. Not that Naomi wasn't fascinated. But she had grown up with the stories and didn't relish another repeat. Now Clementine had a new audience and was making the most of it.

Many people pretended to listen, grunting and making generic comments during the recitation. But not Clint. He really was listening, asking questions and then hanging on every word she said as if Clementine was giving him all the answers.

The elderly woman motioned with her hand and Clint leapt to his feet, helped her to stand and let her lean on him as he walked her down the hall in the direction of the ladies room. He didn't come back for a while so Naomi assumed that he had stayed to bring her back and a moment later, he did. He saw to it that she was once again seated comfortably, adjusting the pillow at her back until it was placed to her satisfaction. She nodded and smiled then shooed him away.

~~O~~

"Here it is. Three nineteen Oneida, apartment two thirty-six." Lewis took out her Beretta, checked the magazine and nodded. Bishop did the same and they got out. They donned their Kevlar vests and were waiting on back-up.

A sedan pulled up behind and two agents joined them. They approached the building with weapons drawn, making their way to the second floor. The apartment was at the end of the hall and the four agents took up positions on either side of the door. Using her fist, Lewis pounded on the door. "Gary Decker! This is the FBI! Open up!"

They waited exactly twenty seconds then Bishop faced the door, raised his right foot and kicked it in. The door slammed against the wall as the agents swarmed into the apartment spreading out and clearing the rooms one by one.

Lewis holstered her weapon while Bishop took out his phone. "Sorry, boss. Decker's not here. We need a BOLO. Thanks." He flipped the phone shut and gestured to the other agents. "Execute the search warrant. There has to be something here that'll incriminate him for stalking."

~~O~~

With a smile that spoke of pride in her man, Naomi returned to the sweet potatoes, nearly jumping when Clint slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her ear. "Mmm. You smell yummy. Like turkey and dressing."

"It's my new cologne. Eau de Thanksgiving."

He planted a kiss on her neck then leaned against the counter next to her so she could see his face. "Anything I can do to help?"

Naomi placed the last of the orange tubers in the baking dish and reached for the tub of brown sugar sprinkling it over the top. "Mother, Clint wants a job."

"He has one, my dear. Entertaining our guests."

"What if I set the table?"

Gina wiped her hands on her apron as she eyed Naomi's work with a critical eye. "Just a little more brown sugar, Naomi." To Clint she said, "Already done. Francine and Tizzie took care of it. What you _can_ do for me is…" she took a ring with a single key from a drawer, "…go down to the wine cellar and bring up a few more bottles of wine. The door is in the back of the pantry."

"Something that goes with turkey. Riesling? Pinot Grigio? Sauvignon Blanc? Beaujolais Nouveau? How about a nice Shiraz?"

Naomi hid a grin at her mother's amazement. She hadn't expected a cop to know enough about wine to make such astute suggestions. "Oh, I _like_ this man. He really knows his wine. Whatever you want. Pick three and bring up at least two bottles of each."

"Yes, ma'am." He flipped her jaunty salute and disappeared into the pantry. In most homes it would be called the butler's pantry, but they just called it 'the pantry" because they didn't have a butler.

When he was gone, Gina took his place leaning on the counter. "Naomi, what's going on with Clint?"

"What do you mean?"

"Outwardly, he looks and acts relaxed, but he seems…tense."

Naomi rolled her eyes. "We talked about this, Mother. He has no family and has spent most of his holidays alone. Now here he is surrounded with people he doesn't know when he thought it would just be the three of us."

Gina shook her head. "It's more than that. He's friendly, outgoing and _very_ charming. But when was the last time he had a real family?"

To get away from her mother's knowing gaze, Naomi went to the sink to wash her hands. "Are we having crescent rolls or biscuits?"

"Both, and do _not_ change the subject. Something's on your mind. Tell me."

Mirroring her mother's stance, Naomi looked down at her feet trying to decide how much she should share. "First off, he is not now and never was a patient. We really did meet by accident. He, uh, came to me the other day after having a recurring dream about his mother."

"Was he there when the accident happened?"

"He hasn't said and I didn't want to pry. I've already done enough of that. He didn't say so, but I know he's disturbed by them. He's not the first cop I've interviewed for my research, but he's just so different than anyone I've ever met." A burst of laughter from the other room erupted into their quiet conversation. "_Don't_ tell him I told you this." Gina crossed her heart with a finger. "He hasn't been able to remember his mother's face and wanted to so badly. After he and his brother were put in the orphanage, he never found out what happened to all their personal belongings so he has no photos. He wanted me to hypnotize him."

"And did you?"

A snort forced its way out. "We tried _all day_ and I used every trick in the book. Mother, I have never encountered a mind like his. He's the first person I've ever met who could withstand hypnosis. There've been a few that I've worked with and finally got through, but…" She chuckled lightly. "He'd make a great spy. No one would _ever_ be able to 'reprogram' him." Gina didn't say anything, just let her daughter talk. "Finally, I told him to rest and he insisted I lay down with him. When he was about to go to sleep, I asked him about her and he was able to recall more details, but not everything."

"I'm sorry, honey. My advice, which you are free to disregard as always, is to make sure that he knows how much you love him. My guess is he hasn't had much of that in his life so reinforce it with words _and_ actions. One day it'll all fall into place for both of you."

"I _do_ and I _will_."

Clint returned from the wine cellar with a box filled with bottles of wine, holding the odd one up triumphantly. "I found an adolescent albinaro, Cambiata Monterey. Since its best when young, I thought you might want to drink it before it hits puberty."

Gina took the albinaro from him, examining the label. "You're right. I'd forgotten about it. Another couple of months and it would've only been good for pouring down the drain." He set the box on the counter where she directed. "Where did you learn so much about wine, if I may ask?"

Clint shrugged sheepishly and smiled, his hands going into his pockets. "Here and there. When you travel a lot, you can't help picking stuff up."

Naomi turned from putting the candied sweet potatoes in the oven in time to see something flash in Clint's eyes, not much, but enough for someone who was a trained observer to read his intent.

Clint had just told her mother an out and out _lie_**. **

**TBC**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 23**

Though he wasn't used to sitting at the opposite end of the table from Gina, Jared had to admit that it gave him a vantage point that he wouldn't have had otherwise. From between Tiffany and Clementine, he was able to observe Clint, Naomi and Gina interacting on a social level.

And what he observed was the fact that Naomi had lost just a little of her glow. After seeing them together when they arrived and in the kitchen he had thought they were very happy together. He couldn't exact pinpoint the moment when it had changed, but it had. She still had those same puppy dog eyes when she looked at him, but now they were tinted with the merest hint of suspicion. No, that wasn't it. He dismissed those thoughts and turned to his companion when Clementine touched him on the hand. "Yes, my love?"

"Jared dear, would you refill my glass please?"

"It would be my pleasure. What is your desire?"

The older woman smiled and patted his hand. "Whatever you think best." The designer chose the albinaro, filling her glass half way. "Don't be stingy, boy. Fill it up."

Jared topped off his own glass leaving a couple of ounces in case someone else wanted one last taste. He had to admit that Naomi had chosen well. She adored Clint and was adored in return. He'd seen that look in his own eyes since the day he met Mason.

And Clint had charisma to spare. All of the women had fallen under his spell. Jared pressed his lips together to keep from laughing out loud when Clint jumped, though he covered well. Jared knew who had caused that reaction though he doubted that anyone had noticed. Suzanne Dupree had been widowed for fourteen months now and was anxious to have a man in her life again. When her husband died, he left her his entire estate, in excess of a hundred million.

Three days after the funeral, she'd gone away, returning almost a year later in her new body. Everything that could be tucked or enhanced from eyes to thighs had been and she looked better than ever. But there was no way Clint would ever fall for her charms. He knew that Suzanne's marriage had been relatively happy, though her husband preferred her to stay as she was and keep a low profile. However, Clint was a one woman kind of guy and not a cheater. He wouldn't risk losing Naomi to someone like Suzanne. Everyone here loved Suzanne, but they also knew all her faults and made allowances.

Trina asked about Fabrizia's new spring line and being given the chance to talk about himself and his company pushed all thoughts of the love story being played out in front of him from his mind.

~~O~~

Carrying the last of the dinner dishes into the kitchen, Naomi took a moment to watch Clint. He was standing at the sink wearing an apron and washing the dishes while her mother dried. It had been his idea though he'd been told repeatedly that it wasn't necessary because Francine and Tizzie would take care of it when they came in Friday just before lunch. He had argued that the food would be stuck on and hard to remove if they did that. Gina couldn't refute that, and because she knew where everything went, it saved fumbling around if she dried while he washed.

They were talking quietly about a variety of subjects or about her. Naomi wasn't really sure. All she knew was, despite the minor incident earlier, she loved him more than ever. They'd talk about what happened, but not until later.

Setting the dishes on the counter to Clint's left she smoothed a hand down his back, receiving a smile in return. Their guests had gone into the sitting area while the coffee brewed. Everything had already been readied so there was nothing much for her to do but put the linens in the laundry room. She pre-treated the spots that needed it and shoved everything into the washer, but didn't turn it on.

Instead, she bypassed the sitting room, took her jacket from the coat closet and went to sit on the front stoop. The air was cold and crisp, a few flakes of snow swirling on the breeze. By morning, there would be several inches on the ground. Though it was early in the season, sometimes the lake froze hard enough for ice skating. Getting to her feet, she took her gloves and hat from her pockets, pulling them on as she headed in that direction.

~~O~~

Clint removed the apron, followed Gina's directions to the laundry room and tossed it in the washer. He returned to the sitting room where the others were setting up to play a game. He'd never played and said so. More than one of the women offered to have him sit next to her so she could help him, but he declined with a lame excuse that was accepted without comment.

All the noise and togetherness was getting to him and he had to get away, just for a while. He grabbed his jacket and stepped out onto the back patio. The temperature had dropped enough that his shirt alone would've been woefully inadequate. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out over the back yard. The garden maze was devoid of any color aside from shades of brown. It would be impressive come summer when the flowers bloomed and the bushes had regained their varied shades of green.

The door opened and thinking it was Naomi, Clint didn't bother to turn around. Nor did he jump when she gave his backside a gentle squeeze. He turned with a smile that faded when he saw he'd been joined by Suzanne Dupree. Jared had warned him about her and he now questioned his decision to come outside where she could corner him alone.

Suzanne's dress was red, at least a half size too small, low cut with only two thin straps to hold it up. Her heels were inappropriate for the weather as well, strappy spiked heels four inches high.

"Why are you out here all alone, Clint?" The timbre of her voice grated on his nerves. She obviously thought it husky and sensuous, but all he wanted to do was give her a throat lozenge. "Trouble in paradise?"

She leaned into his side meaning for it to seem accidental and he just barely kept himself from cringing away. "Sorry?"

"You're here and Naomi isn't. Did you have a tiff?"

He shook his head subtly moving away so that they were no longer touching. "Just stepped out for some air."

"Oh." Keeping her eyes on his, Suzanne rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Taking the hint, Clint removed his jacket, draped it over her shoulders then shoved his hands into his armpits for warmth. He looked down when she started trailing one long finger up and down his bicep. Her touch didn't do a thing for him, but he said nothing out of respect for Gina. "You know, if you ever…"

"There you are, Clint." Gina stepped out onto the patio, the low-heeled boots she'd changed into thumping on the wood, and long skirt swirling in the wind. "Could I speak to you a moment?"

"Of course."

Gina smiled at Suzanne. "Do you mind? I need a private word with my daughter's boyfriend."

Suzanne's smile stayed in place though the skin around her eyes tightened. "I was just about to go in." She returned his jacket and went to the door, her steps also giving away that she was furious. "Thanks for the use of your jacket, Clint."

When the door closed, Clint sagged in relief. "Thanks for the rescue."

"I love Suzanne like a sister, but she is a cougar on the prowl. Just wanted to remind her that you were unavailable."

Clint's forehead crinkled at the unfamiliar term. "Cougar?"

Chuckling, Gina came to stand next to him. "A cougar is a woman, typically over the age of forty who pursues and sleeps with much younger men."

"Oh. So she sees me as…"

"Cougar bait, yes."

Gina shivered and as he had with Suzanne, he gave her his jacket. Instead of leaving it hanging over her shoulders as Suzanne had in order to keep her ample bosom on display, Gina stuck her arms in the sleeves and pulled it closed in the front. "Naomi has nothing to worry about. I care about your daughter and nothing will ever change that."

"I know." Silence fell between them and Clint knew Gina wanted to talk, but wasn't certain how to broach the subject.

"You have questions."

"Many. But most are none of my business unless you _want_ to talk about them. If that's the case, I'm happy to listen."

Clint twitched his shoulders. Did he really want to tell Naomi's mother things that he hadn't yet told _her?_ He supposed it didn't matter in the end. "Ask away. However, I do reserve the right to refuse to answer."

Gina chuckled again. "On the grounds that it might incriminate you?"

He found himself chuckling as well. When he'd been told the business she was in, he'd thought that she would be different. How, he wasn't sure. Just…different. "Exactly."

"What happened to your family? After your parents died, I mean."

Even on his best days, Clint didn't like talking about that part of his life. Naomi knew and respected that, but he could see now that it was time to give her all the facts from beginning to end instead of how he had been, in hints and small chunks out of order. "Want the short or the long version?"

"Short now, long later."

And so, over the next few minutes, Clint gave her the story of his life, glossing over some parts and leaving out his affiliation with SHIELD and that the name she knew him by was an alias.

When he stopped, she didn't say anything for a while, just absorbed what he'd said without judging. And when she did speak, he found himself actually falling for _her_ as well. Not in the way he had fallen for Naomi. That would have been creepy on so many levels. But in the way that a man who hasn't had a significant female role model might fall for someone who possesses the wisdom and perceptiveness that Gina did.

"Thanks for trusting me." Clint cringed inwardly at the word _trust_. He hadn't returned the favor because he hadn't told the truth about a sizeable portion of his past and now felt shame for having done so. But before he could correct it, Gina smiled and took his arm. "Let's go in. It is a tradition that we watch a movie while we have pie and coffee."

At that thought, Clint panicked. He had absolutely _no_ desire to watch an adult film in the company of a roomful of women and a gay man. What he was thinking had to be showing on his face because Gina squeezed his arm reassuringly. "Relax. We're watching _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_. The 1947 black and white version starring Edmund Gwenn and Maureen O'Hara. It's rated G."

~~O~~

Sitting in the living room of his modest home eating a microwave turkey dinner, he flipped channels until he located a spy thriller he'd already seen, the fourth in a series that should have ended with the third.

It was Thanksgiving night and he'd already been inundated by movies and ads for Christmas for nearly a week. He counted himself lucky that he didn't have family to force his participation in seasonal events. With his job, avoiding the numerous holiday parties was easy. All he had to do was give the host or hostess a maybe for the RSVP then tell them on Monday that a family emergency had come up and how sorry he was to have missed it.

Problem solved.

And that was what he got paid to do. Solve problems. Both at his day job and the one that no one there knew he had. The only difference was the type of problems the employers at his second wanted solved and the solutions they would go for. These situations often involved him with the more unsavory elements, the underbelly of humanity. He wasn't averse, quite the contrary. He'd grown up in less than ideal conditions and had learned at an early age how to do the best for himself and the rest of the world be damned.

And because of this official position, he had access to the tools necessary to get the work done for this second job. He was highly paid for the work and rightly so considering the risks he took. Enough to be able to give up his day job, as he called it, but didn't because it gave him access to information that made it all easier.

He muted the television and picked up the cell phone for the moonlighting job. When it was answered, he placed a voice altering device over the mouthpiece. "You don't know me, but I have information you want…You _do_ want the current whereabouts of Naomi DeLuca, correct? I can help you…got a pen? She is staying with her mother in Southampton…yes, the address is…" He rattled off the address then hit the end key with a smirk. By Sunday night his assignment would be over and done with, and there would be no way anything could ever be connected to him.

Maybe the commercials were right. It _is_ the season to be jolly. He knew his bank account would help make it a _very_ Merry Christmas. For him at least. It would be a very different scenario for the DeLuca family and that guy Naomi had taken to hanging around with.

Something wasn't right about him. He'd done a background check, but it had gone nowhere. Clint Coulson had only come into existence a few weeks prior to his enrollment at the college. Almost immediately he'd begun romancing the woman with whom Decker was obsessed. It might've been a coincidence, but like Leroy Jethro Gibbs, he didn't believe in coincidence. Coulson's arrival just as he was nurturing Decker's mania _had_ to be connected. Now if only he could figure out how.

~~O~~

Both hands on the wheel, Gary Decker drove through the snow toward Southampton going exactly the speed limit, no more, no less. Arriving in town, he pulled into the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant. Taking out the map, he checked his directions. It was getting late, and unlikely that Naomi would be leaving her mother's home tonight so he went inside to have dinner. He didn't care for Asian food, but nothing else was open.

When the server presented his check, he asked about places to stay and was given directions to a small hotel about fifteen minutes away. But first, he would find the house before checking and making his plans.

The hotel was smaller than Gary had been lead to believe, but it would do for one night, two at the most. He parked at the far end of the lot away from the other cars and opened the trunk. His suitcase was on wheels, a gift from his mother, but he didn't like them to get dirty so he carried it by the handle. In his other hand he held a silver case that needed a special key to open.

In his room, he set the silver case on the bed then carefully hung each item of clothing in the closet, even his socks and underpants. Going to the vanity, he set out his tooth brush, toothpaste, dental floss, shampoo, conditioner, loofah, sesame bath oil, lotion with sunblock, razor and shaving cream.

Gary set the empty suitcase in the bottom of the closet then sat on the end of the bed. Taking the key from around his neck, he unlocked the special case. The inside was filled with dark gray protection foam with shapes cut into it. He removed the pieces of metal and plastic nestled within those shapes, putting the pieces together with swift precision. When he was done, he held a fully functional M40A3, the same rifle issued to Marine snipers which he knew how to shoot with near-perfect accuracy.

Going to the window, he cracked it just enough for the muzzle to fit and loaded one round. Getting into firing position, he sighted on a red convertible. It was the same one that had cut him off on the highway.

The snow storm turned to rain, lightning flashed and was followed by thunder in, "One, two, three…"

Taking his time, Gary waited for the lightning, counted to four Mississippis and squeezed the trigger. Fifty yards away, the front windshield of the convertible shattered, the sound covered by the thunder rolling through the atmosphere.

Smiling with satisfaction, Gary took the M40A3 apart and spent the next hour making certain that it was squeaky clean inside and out. Then he reached for the Mark XIX Desert Eagle in .50 AE and did the same. He would get rid of Naomi, her mother _and_ the interloper at the same time. If they wanted to be together for all eternity, he would make that happen. And it would be _spectacular._

~~O~~

Clint had never seen _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_ or any Christmas movie for that fact, and watched with fascination. Clementine had insisted he sit next to her on the sofa then fell asleep with her head on his shoulder fifteen minutes in. Naomi was on his other side hiding her grin. She put her hand over her mouth to cover it and in response he leaned over and whispered two words. "Root beer."

He hadn't seen her taking a drink and she nearly choked. Jumping up, she rushed to the kitchen so there wouldn't be a repeat of the Great Root Beer Disaster while Clint just sat there laughing quietly.

Naomi returned shortly and they spent the next few minutes teasing each other. The final straw came when she purposely poked him in the ribs. His response was to reach across with his opposite hand and dig a finger into her ticklish spot. They stopped for a bit and just as scuffling was about to begin anew, Gina moved from her chair, forced them apart and sat between them where she stayed until the movie ended. Clint just shrugged sheepishly and Naomi glowered, but Gina refused to move from her seat.

~~O~~

After reviewing the reports on the raid of Gary Decker's apartment, Phil went for coffee, standing at the window of his office aboard the helicarrier watching a storm rage over New England as he sipped the hot brew.

This stalker business was getting out of hand. Naomi had a stalker and the stalker had a stalker. Joanne Hayes had been sentenced to psychiatric evaluation at a government run facility. The remaining stalker wanted to get to Naomi while the stalker's stalker had wanted to kill Barton.

_Now all we need is the kid in the wheelchair and the prom queen to wander off and get killed and we' got the makings of a B grade horror flick._

He activated the comm, gave his authorization and was put through to Barton's secure cell. It was answered on the first ring.

"_Barton_."

The sound of the wind came through loud and clear telling Phil that Barton had stepped outside. "Hayes has made a full confession. She also told us that she was stalking _you_, not Naomi."

There was a stifled sigh from the other side and Phil heard him mutter TARFU under his breath. "_And?_"

"The perp is Gary Decker and he's headed your way." Phil gave Barton a quick rundown of Decker's physical description. "He may already be there so watch your back."

"_Always do._" Phil heard someone opening a door and a female voice telling Clint that their guests were leaving. As per protocol, Clint switched to code. "So what's Aunt Mary driving these days?"

He didn't like it, but this wasn't the first time Phil had to give bad news. "Gray 1999 Volkswagen Passat. She'll be happy to see the dogs, Fritz, Heidi and Gunther. They're three, seven and two respectively and miss her when she goes away." (Vehicle description and license tag)

"_I remember._" (Message received) "_I also heard the step-kids will be coming for Christmas._" (Send back-up)

"Yes. It'll be good to see them again." (Done/I'll be joining them)

Again Phil heard a sigh. Barton wasn't a happy camper and Phil didn't blame him. He'd feel the same if the woman he cared about was in danger. "_Of course. I gotta go. Talk to you soon._" (I'll be ready)

The call disconnected, Phil removed the comm from his ear and returned to his desk to amend the report on Dr. Gary Decker, psychologist and stalker.

~~O~~

"_Really?_" Naomi scanned Clint's face looking for another lie. She had not confronted him about the one he had told her mother and right now she did not care. He was her one true love, her one for all time and it did not matter where he had gotten his knowledge of anything. "Never?"

"Not once." His voice was laced with humor as he removed his pendant and placed it on the dresser.

She removed her necklace and placed it next to his pendant then took off her earrings. "You are one of the most remarkable men I've ever met." Clint put his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Just because I've never seen an adult film?"

The feel of his heart beating against her back made her want and the sensation grew the longer they stayed like this. To ease the ache, she caressed the backs of his hands then moved away from him, opened the dresser and took out her pajamas. "Not just that. But you have to admit it _is_ unusual."

Kicking off her shoes, she opened the bathroom door, but when she tried to close it, he put his left hand up to stop it. "Where are you going?"

Thrusting a hip to the side, she stuck her fist into the top of that same hip. "To change for bed, brush my teeth. My girly bathroom stuff."

Clint invaded her personal space, his blue-gray eyes going dark. He reached out to take a lock of her hair in his left hand while his right rested on her left hip. "I could help you with that, if you like."

The sound of his voice, already husky with desire, vibrated deep within her, spreading warmth all through her body. Her mouth dropped open then closed again before she could force herself to speak. "Uh…that would be…nice. How would you like to start?"

Clint's hands, so warm and strong, skimmed over the curves of her hips and down along the outsides of her thighs until he reached the hem of her dress curling his fingers under and lifting. "Like this."

~~O~~

Something had changed. Earlier Clint had sensed that he'd done something to upset her, though he had no idea what it could've been. He'd gone looking for her after Gina and he had talked on the patio only to find her coming in the front door, having taken a walk without telling anyone where she'd gone. He'd seldom been as scared as when he found her missing _or_ as relieved to see anyone again in his life. But then he'd never been in love before, nor had he ever dealt with a stalker.

And now he just had to be close to her, to touch her. His fingers edged up under the hem of her dress. He'd gotten it as far as mid-thigh when she pushed his hands away. "Me first."

His arms at his sides, he looked down to watch her oh so slowly open the first shirt button. Her long slender fingers took their time moving on to the next button, and the next, and the next. She grasped the edges of the material, pulling in opposite directions until his chest was exposed.

Clint thought that Naomi would help him out of the shirt, but she didn't. She flattened her palms over his pecs, sliding them up to his shoulders and back down around to the side over his ribs and waist then up again on the same path. On the second trip, she went straight down until she reached the waistband of his pants. With that same deliberation, she maneuvered the leather from its loop. So intent was he on keeping eye contact that he was surprised when his pants loosened enough for her to push them off his hips. With gravity's help, they fell to his ankles. He'd already taken off his shoes so that all that was required of him was to step out of them.

Naomi then lifted the shirt by the collar, pushing it back, down and off of his arms to join the pants on the floor. There he stood in his boxers waiting for her to make the next move. When she didn't, he took it to mean it was his turn.

Looking down for the briefest moment, Clint saw her skirt was still hiked up, higher on the left than the right. He resumed what he'd started, and when her skirt reached the junction of her thigh and hip, the fingers of his left hand slipped under to continue the journey though with a different destination in mind.

Hooking his fingers into the top elastic of her bikini panties, he slid them down to her thighs, his palms taking over until they reached her calves. She made a quick side to side motion and they were on the floor.

Gathering the material of her knit sweater dress in each hand, he lifted it high, pausing to let her raise her arms. It obscured her face, but only for a moment then it too was on the floor.

Clint wanted to stay connected, his eyes locked on hers, so by feel alone he undid the clasp of her strapless bra and swept it away while Naomi did the same for his boxers. Unable to wait another minute, he dragged the down comforter, blanket and sheet from the bed, spread the comforter on the floor in front of the fireplace praising his own foresight in setting the kindling alight thirty minutes before they'd come up to bed.

He returned, scooped her up into his arms, carried her to the fireplace and laid her gently on its softness. To combat the chill that permeated the room even with the central heat on and the fire blazing, he spread the covers over them and soon they were engaged in that age-old dance once again.

**TBC**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 24**

After the fire had gone out during the night, Naomi had insisted on moving to the bed. When she opened her eyes, she was facing Clint, his nose only inches from hers, his left hand under his head and the other curled under his chin. Awake, he had an aura of danger-that bad boy appeal-and guardedness about him that even now made her wonder what happened to him that he would be so distrustful of others.

But here like this, with his defenses down, he looked sweet and vulnerable. And yes, trusting. If he didn't trust her, he wouldn't allow himself to sleep so soundly in her presence. Which brought to mind his habit of hiding his gun and at least one knife where he could reach them at night. She definitely wanted to know what that was all about, but she also didn't. Ignorance was bliss. It could also get you into a world of hurt.

Lifting the covers, she very carefully put first one foot then the other on the floor. In spite of the central heating, the room was chilly as she ran for her robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. While in there, she attended to business. At the sink, she washed her hands and ran her tongue over her teeth. _Ew! Morning breath._ She grabbed her toothbrush, squirted toothpaste on it, brushed vigorously then rinsed and dried her hands.

Shoving her cold feet into her slippers, Naomi padded out to the bedroom. Clint had moved, the covers falling away and leaving his shoulders and upper chest bare. She pulled the sheet and blanket up to his neck, taking a moment to smooth the backs of her fingers down his cheek. She yelped when he snatched her fingers before she could retreat.

"Taking liberties with a sleeping man?" He rolled onto his back. "Shame on you, Dr. DeLuca."

"I was _not_ taking liberties."

He tugged on her wrist and she let him pull her across his chest. Her left hand snaked around his neck while her right worked its way onto his shoulder. Taking her fingers from his hair, she rubbed her palm down his chest and over onto his side, scraping her short nails over his skin.

All it ever took was a kiss and she would do whatever he wanted her to do, and now was no exception. Continuing on the journey she had started, Naomi slipped her hand beneath the covers. She hadn't gone far when he snatched her hand and weaved their fingers together.

~~O~~

The kiss was…perfect. Gentle, not tentative. Sweet, not chaste. Passionate, but not overzealous. Not meant to lead to anything more, though she indicated by her actions that she was ready to go the distance. But there were things that had to be said that couldn't wait. Pulling back, he framed her face with his free hand, his palm pressing against her cheek when she protested. "We have to talk."

"Should I assume the worst?" She slid off of him, her feet hitting the carpeted floor with a thump, opened the dresser drawer and passed him his pajamas. The ones she had intended to wear the night before were still on the bathroom counter and he took the opportunity to watch her get dressed. She had a grace of movement that astounded him for someone who had never walked a tightrope. No doubt due to the ballet lessons she took as a child.

"Sit with me." Holding her hand, he led her to the sofa. His past MO for delivering bad news was to stand separated by a table or some other object while the other person sat. It was his way of distancing himself from the act of intimacy, from his emotions. But now, he sat beside her, holding her hand.

"He's here." She made the statement without emotion, following his lead perhaps. It didn't suit her.

"Yes." A flicker of fear came and went, gone as quickly as it had been leaving behind the beginnings of anger or frustration. He couldn't tell. With her it could be either. "Look, I didn't tell you earlier because…"

She nodded in understanding. "I know. Mother. Guests. Suzanne."

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. "And we _were_ a little distracted last night." Naomi was not amused at his attempt at levity. He cleared his throat uneasily. "Right. I'm…"

"Do _not_ say you're sorry. I saw the way you looked at Suzanne. She propositions anything that is male, not gay or married and younger than her that will hold still long enough."

"And _I_ understand that you have a need to mark your territory, but you have to understand that I'm telling you this because I've taken…precautions."

"Precautions? You brought _weapons_, didn't you? Guns, knives, your bow and arrow?" She shot to her feet, going to the bed and running her hands under the edge of the mattress all the way around finding the Glock and holding it up victoriously. "The little one and the knives. Where are they?" Clint hesitated making her huff at him in exasperation, adding an eye roll for effect. "You wouldn't be _you_ if you didn't have two guns and at least three knives on your person or hidden within easy reach at all times. And some day you'll tell me why."

"Fine." Going to the hiding places, he showed her the Glock, the Ruger, and three knives in varying sizes. "If you're in the house and I've had to leave…"

Her hands framed his face. "I trust you, Clint. And if you _do_ have to leave, just make sure you come back home, okay?"

Home. Until now the word meant little. In the past it had been wherever the circus pitched their tents for a day or a week, in a park or some vacant field. More recently it had been the helicarrier or a SHIELD safe house. Prior to that, it had been his furnished apartment in New York. But now he actually had a place to call home that was more than just bricks, plaster and wood. For him, home was a _person_ and not a _place_. Home was wherever Naomi was whether it was here with her mother or at her apartment. He shrugged casually, and put a smile on his face. "Okay."

With her hands still holding him, her thumbs began rubbing little circles at the corners of his mouth. In retaliation for what she was doing to him, he nipped the right one. She yelped and snatched it away, giggling as he pulled her close and urged her onto her back. Their kisses started out sweet and built up steam.

Clint dropped his left hand down to wiggle under her top, making her gasp when he reached his target. She had gotten his T-shirt nearly over his head when there was a knock at the door. They shared a glance, chuckling as they remembered all the other time this had happened. "Who is it?"

"_It's your mother, dear. Breakfast is almost ready._" Gina paused and they thought she had walked away, until she spoke again. "_But there is no rush if you and Clint are busy._"

Clint pressed his forehead to Naomi's then got to his feet and brought her up beside him. "We'll be right down, Gina."

Her footsteps sounded on the back staircase as Clint and Naomi wrangled over who would take their shower first. As usual, Naomi came up with a solution. They showered together making them more than a few minutes late for breakfast.

~~O~~

Her hand tucked securely around Clint's right elbow, Naomi strolled through the center of Southampton. It was Black Friday, but you wouldn't have known it for the crowds. People strolled around as if today were any other day. Folks who knew her stopped to say hello. She knew they were curious about the man walking at her side. The men gave him you-better-be-good-to-her glares and the women gave him bold too-bad-he's-not-single stares. From the look of humor in his eyes, he knew what was going on.

Combined with the small snow drifts, their walk felt casual and romantic. But always present in the back of her mind was the possibility that the stalker could already be here, watching them. Watching _her_. It made her angry, but she wouldn't ruin their walk by worrying about something that may or may not happen. Clint was here, and she trusted him to protect her.

On the other side of the square Suzanne strutted down the sidewalk swathed in winter white. Someone had probably suggested it in order to get a big commission, but the truth was, it didn't suit her at all. Not the color _or_ the style.

Though she had to have seen Naomi and Clint, she didn't greet them. She jerked open the front door of a high-end clothing store and disappeared. Clint had noticed her too so she elbowed him in the stomach. "I've forgiven you for your little tête-à-tête with Suzanne, but don't press your luck."

"_She_ came on to _me_, but your mother set her straight." Clint kissed her on the temple. "Does she have _any_ original parts left?"

Naomi drew the attention an older man when she burst out laughing. "I have no idea! Why?"

"Because when she…rubbed up against me her…" he made a motion with his hand, "…didn't feel real."

"They're fake. Just like the rest of her."

His forehead crinkled in thought. "Then I have another question. How can you tell that they're not real without touching them?"

Naomi explained with an indulgent smile. "Easy. If she moves and _they_ don't, they're not real." They walked a few more steps coming to a stop in front of a fancy spa. "I'm going to make an appointment for a mani/pedi. Wait for me?"

"Of course."

~~O~~

The moment Naomi was out of sight, Clint's smile faded. All through their walk in town he'd kept an eye out for Decker's vehicle, but hadn't seen it. He could be on foot or ditched his ride for another.

Clint hadn't seen _anyone_ who fit the description. He debated calling Coulson to find out who his back up was and where to meet them, but changed his mind when a familiar figure stopped in front of the coffee shop a few doors down. When Coulson caught his eye, the older man nodded once to the side indicating they needed to talk. Clint gave his usual response and Coulson smiled in return.

Naomi came out of the spa looking excited. "They can fit me in now, if you don't mind."

Relieved that he wouldn't have to find a lame excuse to meet with Coulson, Clint jumped on the opportunity just handed to him. He could see that she wanted to stay with him, but still needed her "me" time. "Go. I have to make a phone call, but I'll be close by, just in case."

"Good." She took a tentative step forward in preparation for a kiss. Seemed to think better of it then settled for a big smile and a quick squeeze of his hand.

"Don't leave until I come for you." In the past, he hadn't been one for explicit displays of affection in public, but with her, he found himself doing things he never had before. He took her in his arms and kissed her, right there in full view of everyone. He ended it quickly and even waved as she went inside, continuing to watch the door for a few moments before striding in the direction of the coffee shop. Clint was brought up short when Coulson appeared in front of him, his usual bland smile replaced by a frown of disapproval.

"You're taking a big chance. Decker's in the area. He could've seen the two of you and be provoked into an escalation. Innocent people could be hurt or even killed."

Crossing his arms, Clint scowled. "I'm well aware of that. What's your _point?_"

"My point is that getting personally involved with the primary target on a case is never a good idea."

"Isn't that what I've been trained to do? Get close to a party or parties directly involved with the mission's objective, insinuate myself into their lives in order to bring them down from the inside? What if it's the only way to keep that person safe? What if being personally involved is the only way to do that?"

Coulson shoved is hands into his pockets. "Being undercover is one thing, but pretending to fall in love with the object of some lunatic's obsession is another."

Clint's scowl deepened. The agent hadn't said, but he and their back-up would be using another venue until this was over, but Clint wanted coffee first so he headed for the shop. He jerked the door open just as Coulson caught up with him. His voice low, almost a growl, he asked, "What if I'm not pretending?"

~~O~~

Phil watched with dismay as Barton drew Naomi into an embrace and kissed her. In and of themselves, those actions were not bothersome. Barton had excelled in blending into his environment, becoming his cover identity with a flawlessness that was remarkable considering his age. And yes, getting close to a target often meant being physically intimate with that person in order to gather the intel they needed.

When he'd been brought into SHIELD with Fury's approval, Phil had taken the younger man under his wing, so to speak, and had personally overseen every facet of his education in preparing him to be an agent. He had proven to be so adept that Phil had recommended Barton be trained as an assassin and Fury had agreed with the proviso that Phil continue to supervise that instruction as well. The work was demanding and physically exhausting though not on a par with the Black Widow Ops Program located at the "Red Room" facility. 2R facilities employed brainwashing as a training tool for their agents. SHIELD didn't.

Turning Barton into a killer hadn't been nearly as hard as he thought it would be. Barton had a strong sense of justice and ethics, a moral code that would carry him far in this business. That is _if_ he didn't screw it up by becoming emotionally attached to someone who would then be left behind when the next mission came along. Phil had seen first-hand what such a scenario could do to the individuals involved, and it was _not_ pretty.

Barton's near admission that he was in love with Naomi worried Phil, but he didn't see a way out of it for either of them. Maybe it was time to bring in a bigger gun to have a few words with the agent. It was the only way he could think to get through to him.

Following Barton into the coffee shop, Phil ordered a dark roast and carried it to the corner table Barton had appropriated. He was hunched over a cup of coffee, staring at a place six inches in front of his nose when Phil joined him.

Instead of repeating their conversation from outside, Phil took out a PDA and passed it to Barton. He didn't ask what it was for or why he was just now being given one because they both knew the answer. This would be Barton's first _official_ assignment for SHIELD and Phil fully expected to have to answer some hard questions. Such as why a clandestine government agency specializing in espionage, intelligence gathering, reconnaissance and assassination would care about catching the stalker of a psychologist from New York.

Phil was glad Barton didn't ask because he wasn't in a position to give him the answers he was looking for. And with the emotional element, the situation had just gotten worse. All during his indoctrination, Barton had been able to keep from involving his emotions with his work. Get in, get out. Don't stick around for the fireworks afterward. Dealing with the aftermath of his incursion into an organization engaged in enterprises that ran counter to the law was the job of the sweeper teams.

But now Barton's position could be in jeopardy. How could he be effective as a clandestine operative if he had loved ones who could be captured and used against him? For the moment, Phil put that question aside and concentrated on the matter at hand.

Gary Decker was not the mild mannered psychologist that his appearance would suggest. He had joined the Marines in the family tradition and had eventually begun specialized training. A mission had gone bad and he'd received a severe trauma to the head putting an end to that career choice.

And though he had developed several mental and emotional issues, Decker had not been deemed a danger to society. However, he'd retained those dangerous skills that had to be taken into account when bringing him down.

"I want someone on Naomi."

Barton's tone bordered on insubordination, but Phil wasn't caught up in that whole I'm-in-charge scene that many of his peers exulted in holding over the heads of their subordinates. "Branson."

"Put her in the spa. She is _not_ to let her leave for _any_ reason."

Phil gave the order, the men tossed their cups in the trash and went to rendezvous with their team. They arrived at their destination before the others and Phil watched as Barton paced uneasily. Finally, he could take no more. "What's wrong?"

Immediately, Barton stopped moving and turned a glare on Phil. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You're pacing-not normal. You're not listening. Actually, that _is_ normal. And you're unfocused-again, not normal. What's going on?"

"I went to Thanksgiving with Naomi and her mother."

Phil didn't see the problem aside from the over involvement in Naomi's private life. "And that's bad because…?"

"It's not _good_ because her mother wants to hire me."

_What is Barton trying _not_ to say?_ "As security?"

"As a porn star."

Now he understood. Barton had found out that his girlfriend's mother produced adult films. Something that hadn't been in her dossier. A wry smile touched Phil's lips. "You understand that, according to the contract you signed with SHIELD, moonlighting is cause for termination."

"_That's_ your only concern? That I might be tempted to take on a second _job?_" Phil shrugged indifferently. "Wait! You knew all along and didn't say anything! Why?"

Phil pointed at Barton's face. "To see _that_ reaction. Life is tough. Sometimes you gotta make your own fun. And this was mine."

Barton would've responded with an invective strong enough to peel the paint from the walls if they hadn't been joined by the rest of the team. Now that they were all together, they got down to business.

~~O~~

Agent Branson entered the spa, showed her badge to the receptionist and Naomi was pointed out to her. Moving to her side, Branson introduced herself. "Dr. DeLuca?"

Naomi had been reclined in her chair, a cape over her clothing for protection. A green facial mask had been applied and cucumber rings rested over her eyes. The nail technician continued to work on her feet without a pause as if federal agents guarded their customers every day. "Hmm?"

"My name is Claire Branson."

"Who?"

Branson pulled a chair over to where she could see the front door and the sidewalk. "I am a friend of…" Coulson told her not to give Barton's real name or title. She had no idea why, but orders were orders, "…Clint's."

Naomi sat up so quickly that the nail tech almost fell over. "What?! Where is he?"

"I don't know, ma'am. He asked me to keep you company."

"You mean keep me here." Naomi pulled her feet from the swirling water while fumbling with the snaps on the back of her smock. "Could someone _please_ get this off of me?"

The owner, a tall woman with red hair and a bland expression, came to her side. "How are we doing, Ms. DeLuca?"

"'We' are leaving!"

"Am I to understand that madam does _not_ want the deep tissue massage that was ordered for her by that handsome man she was with?"

Branson was doing her best to keep Naomi in the chair, but she was fighting her, that is until the words "deep tissue" registered.

"Deep tissue…" she sank back into the chair and stuck her feet into the water again. "Clint's a big boy. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Slumping in relief, Branson went back to her vigil thinking that Barton had his hands full with this one.

~~O~~

Gary Decker roamed the streets of Southampton waiting for night to fall again. Because of the snow, he wasn't able to proceed with his original plan. But it didn't matter when his plan was complete. Just how much it would cost the interloper when he was done.

He had tried to win Naomi's heart, but she'd given it to a man who didn't deserve it. But then _she_ didn't deserve all the good things that had happened in her life either. And though he tried to shut them out, the memories returned, mocking him with their visions of happier times for him and…he couldn't even think the name or he'd end up a weeping mess.

The receptionist at the hotel had given him the name of a restaurant that would cater to his special dietary needs, but he had gotten turned around due to some road construction just outside of town.

A woman came out of a clothing store with about ten bags. She dropped several, and Gary, ever the gentleman, stopped to help her. "Here you go."

"Thank you! I normally bring my housekeeper to do all the carrying when I go shopping, but she's with her family this weekend. I didn't get your name."

"It's Gary."

Suzanne's smile of thanks changed when she saw Gary's face. He might have laughed, but he was used to it. Many women found his blond hair and blue eyes attractive. "Suzanne. And that's all you're getting until we get to know each other better."

"I look forward to it, Suzanne." As luck would have it, they passed the very restaurant he'd been looking for. "This may be forward of me on so short acquaintance, but could I buy you lunch? I'm new in town and don't like eating alone."

Suzanne dropped her eyes down to his feet and made a leisurely trip back up. "I'd be delighted, Gary."

Opening the door, Gary followed Suzanne into the restaurant where they were shown to a table right away. She was obviously a regular here because the server brought his companion a drink before he'd even helped her off with her coat. He ordered something as well, non-alcoholic of course, and set about subtly questioning her about her friends and neighbors.

~~O~~

What Decker didn't see was Phil standing across the street watching his interaction with the seductive Suzanne. He ordered Lewis and Bishop to follow Decker when he left to see where he went and what he did, then gave himself the task of questioning Suzanne's role in the drama that was about to play out.

Barton came up beside him. "I'd stay away from that one, Coulson."

"Why?"

"She's a man-eater."

Intrigued, Phil shoved his hands into his pockets. "You know her?"

"Suzanne Dupree. A friend of Naomi's mother. Fair warning."

This is what Phil loved about his job, the challenge. "Noted. She looked pretty chummy with Decker. Maybe she knows something we can use to catch this guy."

Barton wasn't happy with that answer. "Why don't we just arrest him and worry about probable cause later?"

"Because then I wouldn't have the immense pleasure of meeting the lovely Suzanne."

"I'll go with you."

Phil shook his head. "She knows you as Naomi's boyfriend, a college student. We can't have you breaking cover just yet."

"Cover? This is friggin'_ nuts!_" Barton rubbed his forehead. "You know, just for once, I wanted to know what it was like to be a normal guy. Not the Amazing Hawkeye. Not Special Agent Barton. Not an assassin for SHIELD. Just a _guy._"

"Sorry to bring you back to Earth so abruptly, but you know what they say. When life makes you nuts, bake brownies."

Knowing a little something about profiling himself, Phil knew which buttons would get Barton going and which would diffuse his anger and frustration. Temporarily, at least. Barton chuckled. "Coulson, _you_ are an _a******._"

"That's Agent A****** to you." The bantering atmosphere turned cool. "Someone wants to have a word with you." Turning to look in the direction Phil nodded, he could swear that Barton had groaned. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Yeah. I know." Barton took a deep breath in, held it and let it out again before starting down the sidewalk.

~~O~~

Clint saw Fury standing in front of the spa looking in the window. The expression on his face was unreadable, but then it always was. Clint stopped a few feet away. He knew what the older man was looking at and an idea began to form in his head. Pieces of a puzzle that slowly fell into place.

Fury had to know he was there. Clint hadn't hidden his approach. He waited for SHIELD's director to speak. It worked out better for everyone that way. He didn't have to wait long, but what Fury said wasn't what he expected.

"She looks just like her mother."

**TBC**

**A/N: **As we are nearing the end of part one of my Avenger fic, there will be no more teasers as they would give the ending away. Vilify me if you must, but I am standing firm on this point.

Namaste,

~Sandy


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 25**

The already cold temperature dipped another few degrees around Clint. Not around all of him. Just one particular area. His chest tightened as pieces fell into place turning his insides stone-cold. Scrambling to figure a way out, he wanted to say something, apologize, explain, anything to make this right with the director, but instinct and the stiffness in Fury's back advised against it.

"Do you know why I never married, Agent Barton? Why most of our agents are single and without immediate families?" Clint didn't respond. It wasn't expected because he was here to listen, not talk. Fury turned from his contemplation, his one good eye glaring amidst the puffs of condensation. "The task that we have been assigned as the protectors of the Earth and her citizens is a dangerous one. We make enemies just by existing. If our foes were to learn of the presence of loved ones, they would be used against us making our job much harder than it already is.

"I'm not saying that you shouldn't make an emotional connection to others. We need human contact to stay sane, to keep us grounded and as a reminder that not everyone in the world wishes us harm. But those connections should be made with people who understand the danger."

Fury stopped talking and turned back to the window releasing Clint so that he was able to breathe again. The other man didn't continue right away, just kept facing the window. Gathering his nerve Clint said, "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"No, you may _not,_ Special Agent Barton." Now his voice was clipped and angry. "Catch the man who is stalking Dr. DeLuca and bring him to me."

"And if he resists?"

Once again, Fury faced him. "Terminate him…with _extreme_ prejudice. One way or another he is not to see another sunrise as a free man." And with that proclamation, Fury turned on his heel and entered the back seat of a limo that had been idling at the curb. Fury possessed such an overpowering presence that Clint hadn't noticed it. The long black vehicle pulled away from the curb and when it was gone, Clint too looked in the window catching Branson's eye. He nodded to her and turned on his heel, surprised to see that Coulson was no longer standing in front of the coffee shop.

Reaching inside his jacket, Clint pulled out his radio and shoved the earpiece into his left ear. _Click, click._ "Barton to Coulson."

~~O~~

Suzanne and Decker came out of the restaurant, turned left and went around the corner to the parking lot. Phil crossed the street and followed at a discreet distance. They stopped next to a high-end luxury sports car, Decker placed the bags he carried into the back seat, such as it was, and handed Suzanne into the driver's seat.

Before she closed the door, he kissed the backs of her fingers. Phil made note of the license tag though it wasn't necessary. He already knew where she lived. In fact, he knew everything about her. Perhaps even more than she knew about herself, and what he didn't know, he could easily get.

He watched her drive away then retraced his steps knowing that Bishop and Lewis were already catching Decker's tail. Going to his own vehicle, he followed in Suzanne's wake making sure to stay back far enough not to be seen. Her regard for the traffic laws left a great deal to be desired.

He reached her home within a few minutes, parked across the street and waited exactly thirty minutes before going to the door. It was answered by an older man with a permanent scowl. "Yes?"

Phil flashed his badge. "Special Agent Phil Coulson with the FBI. I'd like to speak to the lady of the house, please."

The butler gestured Phil in and shut the cold out before climbing the stairs. Removing his hat, he waited patiently for Suzanne to appear, not once looking at his watch or showing curiosity about his surroundings. In a few minutes, the lovely Suzanne, as he called her in his mind, came down the stairs. She had changed clothes and was now wearing dark brown slacks and a medium brown herringbone cashmere turtleneck, both of which must have cost more than Phil's home stereo sound system. And because she seemed to expect it, he followed her progress down to the bottom.

"You wanted to see me?"

Holding his hat in his left hand, he showed her his badge. When interacting with the general public, SHIELD's cover was FBI. "Special Agent Phil Coulson. I need to speak to you privately, if I may."

"Of course. My husband worked closely with the government and I'm happy to help in any way I can." She led the way into a large sitting room filled with Victorian era antiques. Once they were seated across from each other, she crossed her legs and clasped her hands together on her knee. Everything about her told him that Barton hadn't been lying. Her green eyes looked him over the way a starving man would a ham sandwich. "What can I do for you, Agent Coulson?"

"You were observed having lunch with Gary Decker today."

Her whole demeanor changed, the flirtatious mien shaded with caution. "What of it?"

Propping his hat on the arm of the chair, Phil projected casualness that was belied by his words. "He's a person of interest in an on-going investigation. How do you know him?"

Suzanne didn't answer immediately and a moment later the butler entered, set a silver coffee service on the table between them and departed without a word. She poured a cup of coffee, passing it to him before pouring one for herself. "I don't. Not really. We ran into each other in front of the boutique and had lunch together at Shay's. That's all."

"What did you talk about?" He was annoying her and knew it, but it couldn't be helped. They could've apprehended Decker at the restaurant, but that wouldn't give them what they needed to convict him. Decker's father, a retired Marine, was now a senator for the state of New York and a personal friend of the Vice President. They had to tread carefully.

"He just moved to the area and doesn't know anyone. I gave him some ideas. He asked about the neighbors, if there were celebrities in the area that might have loud parties all night long. There aren't, by the way. Well, aside from Rick Castle, but he doesn't have parties that often."

"Did he ask about anyone specific?"

Suzanne shrugged and pouted. "No one in particular. Though he did ask if I knew a friend of his."

Taking a stack of photos from his jacket pocket, Phil held it up. "Do you recognize any of the people in these photos? Take your time."

She made a scoffing sound. From some women, it would be considered cute or even sweet, but she sounded like a pig looking for truffles. "Yes. Gina DeLuca. Her daughter, Naomi. And this hunk of hotness is Naomi's boyfriend. Did they do something wrong?"

He returned the photos to his pocket and got to his feet, passing her his business card. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Dupree. If you think of anything else, please give me a call."

Phil wasn't at all surprised when Suzanne slid the card into her ample cleavage. "What if I were to give you a call even if I _don't_ think of something else? Would you still take it?"

He gave her his most charming smile. She probably thought herself subtle, but he could read her like a kids' book. "Ms. Dupree, it would be my pleasure to accept your call at any time of the day or night."

~~O~~

Gary's cell phone rang. A glance at the caller ID gave him a moment of apprehension, but didn't let that deter him. It might be the same caller who'd given him Naomi's whereabouts. "Hello?"

"Glad you decided to pick up. If it had gone to voice mail you wouldn't be hearing from me again."

"Why are you doing this?"

The voice changer made the chuckling sound creepy, like something out of a B- grade horror film. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in the successful completion of your undertaking." He paused. Gary wasn't certain that his mysterious caller was male, but judging by the tone and inflection, that would be his guess. "You're being followed by two FBI agents in a dark blue 2001 Chevy Lumina."

Gary's eye flicked up to the rear view mirror and sure enough, there it was parked at the curb as if waiting for him to drive by. They pulled into traffic just as the light changed to green. "Why would I care what happens to her mother?"

"You shouldn't, but if she should happen to get in the way…"

"Not going to be a problem." He hung up and put his phone aside to concentrate on driving. The timing had to be just right. He waited until an eighteen wheeler came along then made a fast U- turn just in front of it. The truck slammed on its brakes blocking the road so the FBI agents couldn't follow.

Picking up speed, he took a tour of the area to make sure they hadn't caught up to him then headed for his original destination, picked up the car he'd stashed there and got on the road headed toward the spa. The information that Naomi was there had been provided by his new friend, Suzanne. Pulling slowly down the small access road behind the stores, he came to a stop, got out and went around to the trunk. He pulled on a ski mask, leaving it rolled up like a knit cap, and gloves. Opening the silver case, he took out the handgun and pushed it into his waistband then shoved another in the back. Keeping his head down so no one could see his face, he knocked on the door of the Wingate Spa. "Delivery!"

A young woman opened the door to find the Desert Eagle staring her in the face. Before she could scream, he ordered, "Naomi DeLuca. Where is she?"

"Uh… in-in there." She pointed to a door with gold lettering saying it was the Serenity Room.

Spinning her around, he shoved her ahead of him until he came to a supply closet. He pushed her inside, and so she couldn't call out, he rapped her on the back of the head knocking her out. The ski mask covering his face, he shouldered the door open to see Naomi getting undressed. She gasped when she saw him, taking a step forward, but she stopped when the Desert Eagle came into her line of vision.

"I don't have any cash on me and my credit cards are at home."

"Don't want your money." He gestured her to go ahead of him and just as he stepped back into the hall, a Hispanic woman came around the corner, the badge and holstered weapon telling him she was the FBI agent assigned to guard Naomi. _Not doing a very good job, are you?_

She unsnapped the guard and drew in one fluid motion, both hands coming up to hold the weapon and aim. But she was a millisecond too late. Gary fired three shots one after the other into her chest. Her body jerked with the impact and she was thrown backward to slam against the wall. She slid down to a sitting position leaving blood streaks behind, a pool forming on the floor around her.

There was shouting, but Gary didn't stay around to listen. He dragged Naomi, kicking and screaming all the way, out the back door. Tossing her into the trunk, he used duct tape to bind her hands and cover her mouth faster than she could try to get away. A moment later, he pulled out into traffic in a vehicle the FBI wasn't looking for and headed for the place he'd picked out to exact his revenge.

~~O~~

"You wanna call him or should I?" Lewis asked her partner.

Bishop shrugged. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Forget it. I'll call." Lewis took out her cell, hit speed dial and waited for Coulson to answer. "Hey, boss…we lost him…sorry…yes, sir."

"Well?"

Putting the car into gear, she made a U- turn and headed back toward town. "Back to base. He is _not_ a happy camper."

Covering his mouth with a fist, Bishop coughed. A deep wracking sound that went on longer than it should have. "Neither will that other guy. It's his girlfriend that's being stalked."

"Yeah. Speaking of which, why're we wasting our time chasing some loony bird instead of hunting down terrorists?"

"Don't know. Maybe she's related to some bigwig in the government. All I know is it's friggin' cold! Let's stop at that coffee shop on the way."

Lewis snickered. "You buyin'?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm drinkin'."

~~O~~

Clint stood beside Coulson watching them take Branson's body away on a stretcher barely able to keep from going after the guy who had killed the agent and kidnapped Naomi. Two things kept him from doing that. The first was Coulson. The second was the fact that they had no idea where Decker had taken Naomi. So he paced instead, rubbing the back of his head and snapping at anyone who got in his way.

"I _want_ to see Clint Coulson!"

Gina's voice pierced the somber atmosphere while Clint and Coulson exchanged a glance. The moment of truth had finally come.

"I told ya, lady. There's no Clint Coulson here. All we got are bunch o' federal agents and Southampton's finest."

"He's here, I _know_ he is. His truck is parked down the street and he would _not_ leave my daughter alone. If you don't let me see him…"

His voice low, Coulson said, "You and she have a lot to talk about. I'll finish up here. Take her to the coffee shop."

All Clint could do was nod steeling himself for the battle to come. At the front of the store, a uniformed officer was still arguing with Gina and trying to keep her out. She saw his approach and her excitement level, already high, climbed into the rafters.

"Clint! Oh, thank God! This…_person_ won't let me in."

The officer looked to Clint for approval and he nodded. "Thank you, Sergeant. I've got her."

As soon as she reached him, she threw her arms around him. He held her tight feeling her body shaking. When the shaking stopped, he eased her away, leading her down to the coffee shop. He kept one hand on her shoulder giving it a squeeze. When she looked up at him, he felt the moment she noticed the badge hanging from his jacket pocket and the 9mm clipped to his waist.

"Clint, _what_ is going on? Naomi said you were a cop on study leave. And if you _are_ just a cop, why does your badge say FBI?"

Gina's questions didn't afford him the time to respond so he just let her run out of steam. She paused for breath and he shoved his response in the space. "We're going to find her. I promise." He sat down next to her and took a photo from his pocket. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

She snatched it from him, keeping her eyes on him for several telling seconds before looking at the photo. He had purposely changed the subject and she knew it. "Yes. I think his name is Gary. He works at the university with Naomi."

"Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"

Gina had apparently decided to let her earlier questions go for now, though Clint knew there would be hell to pay later. "It was so sad. His fiancée died just a month before their wedding."

"Do you remember her name?"

"No. He was really broken up about it. Took a six-month leave of absence. And when he came back, he was better, but…different. Naomi said he'd started acting a little odd. And who can blame him?"

Clint took down everything, using his PDA to send it to Coulson. An awkward silence broken by the sounds of people talking, music and the coffee machines settled over them. He got her a cup of tea and set it in front of her. "Gina…"

A moment later she grabbed his hand. "She's my _baby_, Clint. What am I gonna do if…"

Reaching out, he took her in his arms again. "That won't happen. I _will_ rescue her. Kidnapping is a federal offense. He'll go to jail for a _very_ long time." _If I don't kill him first._

She tilted her head back to look into his face. A man and woman in plain clothes, also with badges hanging on their front pockets, came to the entrance to the shop and tapped on the window. Coulson joined them a moment later. "Agent Barton, a word please?"

Clint looked up automatically and felt the hard stare that Gina was giving him. Oh, yes. He would pay dearly for lying, that was certain. He waved to let them know he would be right there then looked down at Gina again.

"_Go_. Find my daughter."

Clint nodded, gave her shoulder one last squeeze and joined the others out on the sidewalk.

~~O~~

The four agents huddled together, hands in their pockets and shivering from the cold. Lewis and Bishop each had hot coffee making Phil envious and Lewis had the good grace to be contrite. "Sorry, boss. We shoulda gotten you one."

"I'm good. We just received new information on Decker. It seems that his fiancée died fifteen months ago, less than four weeks before their wedding. Her name was Rachel Crosby."

"How'd she die?"

Phil didn't spare a glance at Barton for his question. "Single car accident. She'd gone to San Francisco on business and was taking the Pacific Coast Highway to an appointment. When she didn't return to her hotel by morning, her colleagues reported her missing, but it hadn't been twenty-four hours so there was nothing they could do. When they _did_ finally start looking for her along the route she was to have taken, the police found her car at the bottom of a cliff. She'd only been dead for three hours. If the local police had started looking for her when she was first reported missing, she would have lived."

Bishop huddled deeper into his coat, the hand not holding his cup covering his mouth as he coughed hard several times. When he was done, he finished off his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. "Must've lost control."

Shaking his head, Phil consulted his PDA. "There were no skid marks because her brake line had been cut. The police questioned her associates, friends and family, but everyone had unimpeachable alibis. Unusual for this type of investigation, but true."

"Shame." Lewis shook her head and finished off her coffee while Phil continued.

"Dr. DeLuca had been informally treating Rachel for depression so her company wouldn't know. Rachel goes to California, seems to have killed herself and Decker's now blaming her doctor for not helping when she wasn't even a doctor at the time. But he's all over the map alternating between his twisted version of love and wanting revenge for his fiancée's death."

"But how does that help us find her?"

Grinning, Phil shifted his feet and shivered when a gust of wind pushed at them. "We found his hotel room and searched it, but didn't find anything that would help. However, I may have an idea. According to Rachel's mother, they'd planned on having their wedding at the chapel on Pierson Road in Sag Harbor with the reception at the Continental Hotel. We've had people on his apartment, the university _and_ his parents' house for thirty-six hours. But he hasn't shown though he has had plenty of time to get close to any one of those places."

Barton got it before the others. "He's taken her to the chapel."

"There or the reception hall, but my money's on the chapel." The last words were barely out of Phil's mouth before Clint was sprinting down the sidewalk to his truck. Phil, Lewis and Bishop caught up with him before he could even start it up. "Let's take the car, Barton."

"Truck's faster."

"I know, but we won't all fit and you can't do this alone."

Clint ignored him, taking out his Glock and chambering a round. He shoved it back into the holster and opened the truck to get in, stopping at the hand on his arm, making a sound of acute stress and frustration he had to be feeling. "Phil, this has to end _now!_ He won't stop unless _we_stop him."

"You mean, unless _you_ stop him." The shrug was meant to be uncaring of the consequences, but Phil couldn't let him ruin his life for revenge. "Clint, you _have_ to think this through. Decker is _not_ a high priority target for SHIELD. Granted, he's a creep and needs to be stopped, but letting our best marksman go after him alone…" he shook his head, "…there's no way it would be anything more than murder."

"But that's what I _do._ You can't have it both ways. Killing from a distance or up close, it's the same. Someone who was alive is now dead. And as far as Decker's concerned, I'm okay with that."

"So Decker's dead and you save the girl. Are you really willing to spend the rest of your life in prison?" There was no answer, but the look on Barton's face was an open book to someone who'd come to know him as well as he ever let anyone know him. "Well, I'm _not_ okay with that. When we take this guy down, it will be _my_ way to ensure that it's a righteous kill."

Knowing Phil was right, Barton gave in. Taking a case from behind the front seat, Clint said, "Then let's go. I'm driving."

Again Phil stopped the younger man. "Lewis, _you_ drive."

"Yes, boss." She did as directed, Bishop sticking the emergency light on top, and soon they were on the road, the siren blaring as they roared through town with Barton pouting in the back seat next to Phil.

~~O~~

When Clint went outside to talk to the other agents, Gina watched with only half of her attention. Then someone came in and she caught a few words of their conversation. Something about Sag Harbor. Leaving her cup on the table, she edged closer to the door. Their concentration was so deep she doubted they would see her listening in.

The one who seemed to be in charge chased after Clint when he took off, the other two following. A few moments later, the group returned and climbed into a four door sedan. Gina could see Clint wanted to drive, but the female agent received that assignment. Good thing. In Clint's state of mind, he might get them all killed.

Once she was sure they were gone, Gina pushed out of the shop, cut across the street and jumped into her car. Just to be safe, she put on her seatbelt. She'd be of no help to anyone if she got killed on the way.

Just outside the city limits, she lost sight of the agents' car. No matter. She'd been to Sag Harbor on many occasions. She knew the chapel they were talking about and it wasn't far. After breaking a good number of the traffic laws, she arrived at her destination.

The car Clint had been riding in was parked a block up the street and she parked behind it. Going to the trunk, Gina opened it and unzipped the carry case she'd put there when she'd been told what had happened at the spa, lifting out a Remington 870 Express Super Magnum with pump action.

_No one messes with me or my daughter! He wants a fight then he's damn well going to get it!_

She loaded it quickly and efficiently, shoved more rounds into her pockets, slammed the trunk and set about finding a way into the chapel without being seen.

**TBC**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 26**

As they neared the chapel, Bishop shut off the siren and lights. Lewis coasted to a stop a block away so they wouldn't be seen. Going to the trunk, they each put on a Kevlar vest with FBI across the front and back.

Clint set his bow and arrow case on the ground at his feet. It would be no good in close quarters, but he wanted it near just in case. From the other case he took the black K-bar and two smaller boot knives, secreting them on his person. He paid no attention to the others knowing they were gearing up as well. His hair fell over his forehead and he brushed it back with an angry gesture wishing he had cut it. Taking the knit cap from his pocket, he pulled it over his head and tucked the longer strands out of his way. His hands were cold so he slipped on a pair of fingerless gloves, flexing his hands to keep the circulation going.

"How we gonna play this, boss?" Bishop had armed himself with almost as many weapons as Clint, but in his case, he'd taken off his long overcoat as had Coulson and Lewis.

"Slow and easy. Get in, and take him down. Alive, if possible. We _will_ bring Dr. DeLuca back and Decker will go to jail for a very long time."

Lewis chose a Sledgehammer sniper rifle from the arsenal, checked it out and filled her pockets with ammo. She nodded to a building across the street. "I'll set up over there on the roof."

"Good." Coulson stuck his earpiece in his right ear. "Comm check" They all indicated they could hear him and each other.

Arming herself with additional ammo, Lewis avoided looking at Clint. "Boss?"

"Yeah?"

Lewis' expression giving nothing away except determination, she held the Sledgehammer easily in both hands, more than comfortable holding the deadly weapon. "Shoot to kill or to maim?"

"If Decker gets by us and you have no other choice, take him out."

"Yes, sir."

She and the others knew what Coulson was not saying. They wanted Decker alive on Fury's orders. But if that wasn't possible, Clint wanted to be the one to do the final takedown. Either way, Naomi was coming with him and no one would get in his way.

"Barton, you're on the back door. Bishop and I are on the front."

To Clint, Coulson looked odd armed to the teeth. Aside from the sparring sessions they'd been in, he seldom saw this side of his handler. For the most part, Coulson was mild-mannered and easy-going yet giving off an impression of danger that lurked under the surface. And Clint was privileged to be able to see him in action.

A field surrounded the chapel, but before Clint used it to hide his approach, he made a crouching run to the only vehicle in the parking lot. Taking out his K-bar, he slit all four tires then returned it to its sheath. He dived into the underbrush making almost no noise as he worked his way to the rear of the building, picked the lock on the back door and let himself in. As churches went, it was not large, but there were many places to hide, for him and for Decker. And just as many places for him to keep Naomi.

Taking her to the steeple would be foolish as the stairs were easily blocked. And everyone knew a trapped animal would fight its way out rather than allow itself to be captured. That's how he felt about Decker. He was an animal. A dangerous creature that should be put down.

He'd seen it done many times in the circus. Tigers, lions, bears, chimps. Once they had attacked a human, they were no longer considered "safe" to be around and were destroyed, even if it had seemed like an accident at the time. He'd been just short of his thirteenth birthday the first time it had happened. A Bengal tiger had clawed and bit one of his handlers. The man ended up in the hospital for almost a week.

Clint and his brother had watched with horrid fascination as the magnificent creature had been shot through the head. Clint had gone with the others to help bury him in the woods near which they had camped. He'd been able to keep his emotions in check until going to bed where he'd cried all that night.

The next day, Barney had made fun of him and the two had gotten into a knock down drag out until two of the clowns had pulled them apart. Mr. Carson had come to talk to him later and told him that it was okay to be sad, but that death was a natural part of life. That he shouldn't mourn, but to celebrate the life that was no more. At the time he'd thought the old man was feeding him a load of crap. Still did. But if he, or anyone else, had to take Decker out, he wouldn't waste one millisecond of grief on him. In fact, he would celebrate.

The creak of a floorboard alerted Clint to the presence of another. Listening closely, he could hear the soft footfalls of someone coming closer to his hiding place. He put the 9mm away, flattening himself against the wall as the muzzle of a shotgun came into sight, left hand supporting the barrel and right hand caressing the trigger. He counted to three then stepped out, pushing the barrel down with his right hand and his left coming across his chest to elbow his opponent in the face, stopping in mid swing when he recognized the indignant, "Hey!"

Clint dragged the person into his hiding place, surprise and anger battling within him. He shut off his radio, his voice a harsh whisper, "Gina! What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are. Saving my daughter."

"No. You're _not!_" He took the shotgun from her. "Go out the way you came in, get _back_ in your car and _go home!_"

Rage flashed in her brown eyes. "She's my _daughter!_ I'm _staying._" She grabbed the shotgun from him and stood. "I can take out a buck at sixty yards in the woods. Can you say the same?"

"No. But then I've never been hunting. Not for deer."

One side of her mouth lifted in a grin. "When we get home, you're gonna have some explaining to do. Starting with that FBI badge, why it says FBI on your vest and why you answered to 'Agent Barton' when you were introduced to me and my friends as 'Clint Coulson', an off-duty cop and full time college student."

"It's a long story. Sure you wanna hear it?" Clint would've said more, but the sound of yet another person close by brought finger to his lips for quiet. He pulled the Glock out, stuck on the flashlight attachment and waited, not missing the way she noticed his familiarity with the weapon.

"Yes!"

He knew she wanted answers, but her daughter took top priority. Naomi was _his_ top priority too. "Sh! We've got company."

~~O~~

Consciousness slowly returned and the first thing Naomi noticed was that she couldn't move. Not only were her hands and feet bound with duct tape with another strip across her mouth, but she had been stuffed into a small space. Turning over onto her back, she was able to guess at the dimensions of her prison as barely bigger than the floor area of the confessional at a Catholic church, though she doubted she would be able to sit up.

Her head hurt where he'd hit her. When he opened the trunk to take her out, she had tried to kick him, but he'd been ready. The coldness registered next. Wherever she was, there was no heat.

_Great! Kidnapped by a kook and I'm getting frostbite boot!_

She should be worried, not knowing who had taken her, but she wasn't. Clint would find her before the guy could do her any more harm. All she had to do was believe.

The box Naomi was in, or whatever it was, moved slightly, as if someone had kicked it from the outside, and a moment later a dim light was in her eyes backlighting the person standing over her. She shrank back when a hand reached for her thinking he meant to hit her again, but all he did was remove the tape from her mouth. "Ow! What the hell? That hurt!"

"It was supposed to. If I'd wanted it to feel good, I would've used a gag."

Her eyes went wide as she recognized the voice. "Gary?"

He crouched and that brought him out from in front of the light source so she could see his face. "I'm surprised you hadn't guessed before now that it was me…" he made air quotes, "…romancing you."

"But why?"

Looking up at the ceiling and stroking his chin thoughtfully, he wondered, "Why would I become your secret admirer? Maybe it was to punish you."

"I don't…"

"My plan…" he got to his feet, speaking as he pulled her upright. She'd been in a near-fetal position for too long and her legs wouldn't support her. Leaning forward, he swung her over his shoulder. "My plan was to make you fall for your secret admirer, then reveal myself to you. And once I was certain that you loved me as much as I loved Rachel, I'd leave you with your heart broken just as I was when she left me. But that _jerk_ Coulson came along and ruined everything."

"But, Gary, Rachel was killed when her car went over a cliff. Her brakes failed."

Naomi turned her head to the side as he carried her down a narrow passage. As they passed an open door, she could see they were in the vestibule of a church by the stained glass window depicting the life and death of Christ. At any other time, she would have thought they were beautiful, but not so much at the moment.

"No, she wasn't! Yes, that's how she died, but she killed herself." Gary entered the chapel and climbed the steps to the altar to throw her down on top of the snow white cloth spread over it. "And it's your fault!"

"I don't understand, Gary. She came to me for help. We had four sessions a week for more than six months and she told me she felt better than she had in years. She was so in love with you, couldn't wait to get married and start your life together."

With a crazed grin on his face, he leaned close to her. Close enough for her to feel his hot breath on her skin. She tried to turn away, but he forced her to look at him. "She killed herself! Drove off a cliff into the ocean!"

"How can you think I had anything to do with it?"

"You were supposed to be _helping_ her, making her better."

Naomi dropped her head to the altar making it throb even more. They kept going around and around. Something more had to be going on than just a delusion and it wouldn't help her case if she kept trying to convince him that what he believed to be true wasn't. "I am _so_ sorry. I really did think she was getting well, that the depression she'd been in since her mother died was going away, that she was engaged in her life again. She told me she was sleeping normally. That the insomnia had stopped."

"Well, it didn't. She was up at all hours of the night just sitting in a chair staring at nothing. Even our dog, Charlie couldn't cheer her up and she loved him as if he were a child."

Gary's tone had taken on the edge of pain. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead over his left eye as he continued to ramble, but Naomi had stopped listening. She wasn't a medical doctor, but some of the things that had been happening over the last few months began to make sense. The dramatic loss of weight, headaches, nausea, changes in personality, and the times he had fallen. The sudden onset of OCD should have been a warning sign, but she had thought it a way of coping with Rachel's death. The mention of a dog where there had been none brought it all home because Rachel had been severely allergic.

Sudden movement startled her as he pulled out a gun. To her it looked much like the one Clint kept under the mattress, but she couldn't be certain in the dim lighting of the chapel caused by the now overcast sky. While trying to think of what to say to get through to him, he shoved the gun into his back waistband then took out a knife.

~~O~~

The wind howled across the rooftop of the storage building across from the church. Lewis was colder now than she'd been standing outside the coffee shop. And because of the indulgence, she now had to pee so bad she could barely see straight. But she wouldn't let Coulson, Barton, or his girlfriend, down.

Taking a perch facing the main entrance, she knelt and rested the barrel of the Sledgehammer on the parapet. Aiming carefully, she was now ready to take out the target as soon as she was given the opportunity. She loved her job, but the taking of a life was never easy, even when doing so saved the life of another. But she'd do what she had to. They all would to save the hostage.

Nothing could be seen through the front windows except a portion of the vestibule so she'd have to wait until Decker tried to leave with Dr. DeLuca. It would be dangerous trying to take him out with a captive to shield him, but she was very good at her job, ranked one of the top five shooters first in the FBI and now with SHIELD. If anyone could take him out, it would be her.

Through her scope she saw her partner and Coulson moving cautiously from bush to bush. Bishop stuck his head up and retreated again flashing a quick hand signal to Coulson.

Coulson nodded and duck-walked to the front door with Bishop just behind him. They pressed their backs against the wall on either side of the double doors, Coulson placing his hand on the knob. She could almost hear him count to three inside his head then ease the door open.

Bishop was inside in less than a second with Coulson behind him. After that, she lost sight of them. She wanted to check in, but knowing how sounds carried in a church, she didn't dare. Now all she could do was wait and hope her skills weren't needed.

~~O~~

The footsteps Clint heard moved off in another direction. His voice barely above a whisper, he told Gina, "Stay _here_. Do _not_ move until I come back for you."

"I don't think so." She started to get to her feet, stopped by Clint's hand on her shoulder.

"I mean it, Gina. Stay!"

Before she could protest yet again, Clint opened the case at his feet, taking the recurve bow out and opening it with a snap of his wrist. Gina made a sound in her throat, but he couldn't take the time to appease her curiosity. Taking the quiver out, he stuck three arrows into it. If it took more than that to bring Decker down, then the man wasn't human and they were way out of their league.

He slipped out of their hiding place hoping Gina would do as he said. He didn't know her well, but realized that it was a futile wish.

The hall to the left led to the rectory. A quick search told him it was empty and had been for a few days. Most likely due to the holiday. Even the pastor of a church deserved to take a vacation.

As Clint made the return trip, he heard voices in the chapel. One female and angry. Naomi. The other was Decker's and the only word to describe his voice was irrational. He was saying things that made no sense. Words like suicide and depression, using them to accuse Naomi of causing his fiancée's death. It was as much _what_ he said as _how_ he said it that told Clint that Decker genuinely believed that Naomi had caused Rachel's death. He also knew that talking to him would be worse than useless. There was nothing _anyone_ could say that would get through to him. It was looking more and more like Clint would end up killing the man before he could do the same to Naomi.

Clint had taken only a single step toward the chapel when another voice joined the others. With a sigh of exasperation, he inched his way to the door between the hall and the chapel to verify that Gina had _not_ done as she was told.

The voices were closer now, and when he peeked through the window, he saw Decker with his arm around Naomi's waist and a knife at her throat. Slivers of silver stuck to the legs of her pants showing where she had been bound and the tape had been cut.

Keeping Naomi between him and the business end of Gina's shotgun, Decker backed toward the side exit that led to the fellowship hall.

Clint made his way to the back door and stepped out into the cold biting wind. With one part of his mind, he calculated wind velocity and directionality to use the bow and arrow. Another part tracked the footsteps of Decker and Naomi. She had wisely given up trying to talk to the man, and Clint was glad she had because it would only fuel his delusion if she kept refuting what he knew to be true whether it was the actual truth or not.

Sidling up to the corner, he leaned out and back just as a side door opened and the pair came out. Decker's knife was still way too close to Naomi's neck for Clint's peace of mind. But he couldn't think about the fact that the woman he loved was so close to dying. He had to clear his mind so he could figure out the best way to take Decker out before he could slice open her neck.

The sound of a boot hitting wood brought Clint's head around the corner again. Gina. Still holding the shotgun and still following the man who had abducted her daughter and giving him hell.

_That woman never listens! Like mother, like daughter._

~~O~~

Lifting her right foot, Gina kicked the door Decker had just taken Naomi through, keeping her eyes on him and waiting for one millisecond of distraction. As he had stalked her daughter, she stalked him across the patch of grass one step at a time.

Apparently Decker had tired of this game. "One step closer and…" Naomi hissed in pain as he made a small cut in the side of her neck.

Seeing the blood, Gina stopped moving, but refused to back off. "Let her go and I _might_ be generous enough to let you live so you can rot in prison."

"She's coming with me or she dies."

Her chin coming up, Gina said, "I'll take door number three." Her eyes met Naomi's and she smiled ever so slightly. "_Ti amo, figlia! Cessare caduta e rotolare!_" (I love you, daughter. Stop, drop and roll!)

Naomi dipped her chin once in agreement. "_Ti amo anch'io, mamma!_"

Within the circle of Decker's arm, the young woman let her entire body go limp. Not expecting it, Decker lost his grip. Naomi fell to the ground and rolled out of the way, covering her head with her bound hands just ahead of a shotgun blast that echoed through the cold air.

The next few seconds seemed to go by in slow motion.

The shot hit his right hand and Decker dropped the knife. With his left hand, he reached back and pulled out a small caliber handgun, cocking the hammer and aiming at Gina in one smooth motion. He wasn't able to complete the action because suddenly an arrow was sticking out of his chest.

The side door was flung open again, and when Gina swung around, her finger twitched. A second blast was heard followed by a man crying out. She'd accidentally shot one of the agents, a tall man with dark hair. She didn't know his name and she did want to apologize, but her daughter came first.

Decker looked down at the shaft sticking out of his chest, coughed twice disgorging blood down the front of his jacket. The gun dropped to the ground with a dull thump, that same hand coming up as if to pull the arrow out. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to his knees then onto his side.

Gina swung her head to the left to see Clint standing not ten feet away, left arm back at shoulder level and the right holding the recurve bow out in front of him. But it was the look on his face that really got to her. He was intensely focused without even a touch of fear.

The moment Decker's body hit the ground Clint lowered the bow and ran forward, dropping the bow as he reached Naomi well before Gina did. When she got there, he'd already removed the tape from around her wrists and held her in his arms. Not caring how it looked or if Clint might not want it, Gina wrapped both of them in her arms and was pleasantly surprised when Clint's arm came around her waist to bring the three of them even closer.

~~O~~

Clint nocked an arrow as he came around the corner, lifting the recurve into position and sighting on the middle of Decker's chest. He would've let it fly, but Naomi was still in the way. To his right, Gina shouted something in Italian, but he was too focused on Decker to be bothered with translating.

Suddenly, Naomi dropped to the ground and rolled away from Decker's feet. A shotgun blast hit Decker's hand causing him to drop the knife and when Decker's left hand went for his gun, Clint let his breath out and released the arrow barely hearing the shotgun being fired for a second time.

_Pffffft!_

Decker slumped to the ground, but Clint was already on the move, dropping to his knees beside Naomi. She had already gotten herself to a sitting position and with a swipe of his knife, Clint cut the tape on her hands. He gathered her to him and held on tight.

"Oh, God, Clint! I thought I'd never see you again."

"You're fine. We're both fine." Clint kissed her forehead then her lips. "I love you so much, I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost you." Immediately, Clint realized what he'd done. He had declared _out loud_ and in front of witnesses that he loved Naomi. And by the way she clutched at him she'd heard every word. But before she could speak, her mother joined them. He pulled Gina close, the three of them just sitting on the cold ground and hugging.

And coming toward them was the sounds of emergency vehicles. They skidded to a stop, the paramedics already swarming around Bishop.

A few minutes later, Lewis, still carrying the Sledgehammer, joined the chaos by going to speak to Coulson. What they said didn't matter. All Clint cared about was that Naomi was safe and they were together. Anything else came in a distant second place.

**TBC**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:** 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris_._

Thanks,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**Time after Time**

**Chapter 27**

"Clint."

Lewis heard Coulson call out to get Barton's attention and when the younger agent glanced up, just for one unguarded moment, she saw relief mixed with another emotion that she would later deny she saw. In fact, she didn't even give it a name in her own head. It was enough that Barton and his girl knew what it was. And that was the second time in the last few minutes that the archer had impressed her. The first was the shot with bow and arrow.

She and Coulson moved over to stand just far enough away to give the DeLuca women and Barton some privacy yet close enough to speak without shouting. Barton lifted his head, his usual scowl in place once again.

"What?"

Nodding, Coulson signaled the presence of the paramedics. One was crouching next to Decker, two fingers under his jaw. He shook his head and joined the other then they stood with Phil until Naomi's mother and Barton released the psychologist so they could check her out. Barton picked her up and carried her to one of the waiting ambulances. Gina trotted along at his side whispering soothing words to her daughter.

Barton returned to wait for Phil to speak. Lewis looked from one to the other. "Good job, Barton. Boss, I'm going to put this little puppy to bed and ride to the hospital with Bishop." The agent trudged through the field past all the police and medical personnel to their vehicle, returned the sniper rifle to the trunk and retrieved her and Bishop's long coats. Trotting to the ambulance just as they were loading her partner in, she told the driver, "I'll ride with him."

"Sure."

Climbing inside, Lewis sat beside the paramedic, taking Bishop's hand. "You just _had_ to be the center of attention, didn't you, Troy?"

With some of his usual good humor, he smiled. "How else am I gonna get a pretty girl to hold my hand?"

Lewis snorted with mock scorn. "They musta given you the good drugs."

"Why?"

She laid her partner's hand on this stomach. "Because that is the biggest load of _crap_ I've heard since Clinton was president."

"Ha. Ha." Bishop turned his head toward the front of the ambulance. "Hey driver, step on it. I have an appointment with a surgeon."

Without responding, the driver turned on the siren and pulled out into the street now lined on both sides with spectators. The Southampton PD was either doing a stellar job of crowd control or the residents here had better manners than in New York because all they did was mill around and take pictures.

"It's just his shoulder, ma'am. The bleeding's almost stopped and the surgeon's been notified we're on the way."

"Good. I'd hate to have to break in a new partner. Just got this one trained."

~~O~~

It was well past dinner time when Naomi, her mother and Clint finally arrived home. Clint had wanted to carry her from the truck to her room, but she refused. Her injuries were minor and she didn't want to be babied. All she wanted was to have something to eat, take a long hot bath and sleep for two days, preferably with Clint beside her. And she really did mean sleep. After her ordeal, the constant fight or flight conditions she had spent most of the day immersed in, she was exhausted.

Her mother had insisted on serving her in bed so the bath became the higher priority. She turned on the hot water, dumped in a generous amount of her favorite bubble bath then slowly undressed. Immersing herself in the soothing liquid, she closed her eyes, sighing in pleasure. Someone knocked on the door, but she didn't respond, and a moment later, it slowly opened just enough to let Clint slip in. "How you doing?"

"Okay so far. What about you?"

He shrugged. "_I_ wasn't the one who was abducted and cut with a knife."

She touched the small mark on her neck. It was shallow enough that it hadn't needed stitching or even a bandage. The amount of blood had made it look worse than it was. "True."

Clint knelt beside the tub, picked up the bath sponge, dipped it in the water then took hold of her left hand, gently rubbing its softness over her skin. He did the same with the other arm, both legs and her back. By his actions, he was telling her that he had been completely truthful when he'd said he loved her. At first, she'd thought it had been the heat of the moment, but now that she'd given it some thought, she knew. Clint loved her just as much as she loved him.

He would've continued bathing her if they hadn't been interrupted by her mother checking in. He went to the bathroom door and she softly called out, "Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"I…" It was her turn to say those three little words. Why was it so easy to say them to her mother, but not to him? She inhaled the fragrance of the lavender and it gave her strength. "I love you too." Not knowing what to expect, she waited for him to respond. She didn't for one moment expect him to say he loved her again. That wasn't his way. But what she did get was just a good. He gave her one of the smiles that she fell for every time she saw it, nodded once and closed the door.

Taking the sponge, she finished bathing, let the water out and stepped onto the fluffy bath mat. She dried off and put on the warm pajamas that Clint had left on the counter, added the fuzzy socks and went out into the bedroom.

Clint was just coming in the door carrying a tray, Gina dogging his footsteps. She helped Naomi into bed, pulled the covers up over her and moved out of the way so Clint could set the tray over her lap before uncovering a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup and pouring her a cup of tea.

"I'm _not_ an invalid. I could've come downstairs."

Gina perched on the edge of the bed, patting her daughter's knee. "We just want you to rest and not worry about anything tonight."

"I'm _fine_, Mother. And when we get back to New York, I promise to talk to someone about all of this."

"Good. Then I'll leave you and your man alone." Gina gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too, Mother."

When Gina had gone, Clint stood beside the bed unsure of what to do next so she put him out of his misery. "Why don't you get a shower? By the time you're done, I'll be finished eating."

"Okay." He still hesitated, and she knew what was on his mind. "Naomi, about what happened, what we both said…"

She smiled gently, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. "We can talk about it later. Or not. Whatever you want."

Clint accepted that as he gathered his pajamas and clean socks then went into the bathroom and closed the door. The shower came on and she smiled. He loved her and even if he was never able to say it again, at least she had the memory of today. It was a fantastic memory to offset the incredibly bad ones. As long as they were together, that was all the psychotherapy she needed.

By the time Clint came out of the bathroom, Naomi was done with the soup and tea. He removed the tray and set it on the dresser as she scooted down under the covers and closed her eyes. She felt him tucking the sheet and blanket up around her neck, smiling as he kissed her forehead and smoothed the hair from her cheek. "Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"We have to leave tomorrow evening to go home." She snuggled closer to her pillow and sighed, already half asleep. "Donny and Serene are getting' married Sunday and she wants me to be the maid of honor. She called while you were showering."

His footsteps returned to her side. "She's getting married on a Sunday?"

"Mmm. Her uncle's a minister. He's gonna do the ceremony. They got the license 'n everything." There was no response, but she was too tired to open her eyes or care at the moment. "You don't have to come. Just wanted you to know."

And that was the last thing she knew until sometime later when Clint slid into bed beside her and cuddled her close.

~~O~~

As soon as he was certain Naomi was asleep, Clint gathered up the tray and carried it down to the kitchen. Gina was still sitting at the curved bar counter. He rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. Pulling out the chair next to Gina, he waited for her to initiate conversation hoping to put off what was coming as long as possible. Clint should've known that he wouldn't get off easy.

"Thanks for saving my daughter today."

Clint shrugged as if it were something he did every day, which it sorta was. "Had to."

"If I'd lost her…" She took his hand, gripping it tight. Keeping her hold on him, she led the way out into the sitting room where they'd had the Thanksgiving party compelling him to sit next to her on the sofa. A tray with tea service awaited them. "Talk."

"Pardon?"

"You _know_ what I mean, Clint. The FBI, the weapons that you're so adept at using, your _name_. _Why_ have you been lying to Naomi and to me?"

He hung his head for a moment gathering his thoughts and deciding how much he could tell her and not have her safety compromised. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly before responding. "Most of what I told you the other night is true."

"But…"

"Unfortunately, some of it wasn't. I can tell you some, but not all of it because it's highly confidential."

Pouring them each a cup of tea, she rolled her eyes. "What's your real name?"

"Can't say."

"So what are you? Black Ops? CIA? A member of some super-secret government agency that doesn't officially exist?" At his silence, Gina's expression changed to one of shock and disbelief. "Get _out_ of here! Really?"

Clint shrugged again. "Can't say. And neither can you. I mean it, Gina. You can't tell your friends anything more than that I'm a cop. Everything I tell you has to stay in this room." He waited for her agreement before retelling his history with a few small additions and corrections. When he was done, she looked him in the eye.

"What about Naomi?" The shock had been replaced by irritation on her daughter's behalf. "Are you gonna continue to lie to her too?"

"It's for her safety. There are some very bad people out there and if they knew that _you_ knew or even suspected…"

She waved her hand in surrender. "I understand. But you still need to talk to Naomi. Let her know what's going on. She'll worry every time you leave that you're never coming back, but if she finds out you lied to her even about your name…" She let her message hang, and it was received loud and clear.

"I'll tell her everything I've told you when we get back to New York."

~~O~~

Getting into the car with Barton and Naomi, Phil drove back into town and dropped them off at Barton's truck. When the archer had taken his girl home, Phil took out his cell phone, but before he could dial, it was already ringing. He recognized the number though he'd never called it before. "Hello?"

"_Special Agent Coulson? Gina DeLuca. I do hope I'm not catching you at a bad time._"

"Not at all. To tell the truth, I was just about to call _you_. Would you care to have dinner with me tonight?"

She paused as if thinking it over, but he knew she was just making it look good. "_I would, but why don't you come here? I've got a shepherd's pie in the oven__._"

"Ms. DeLuca, I would be delighted." He turned his wrist over gauging the amount of time to make the drive. "Shall we say seven?"

"_Perfect. That will give me plenty of time to make myself beautiful_."

With a grin, he stated, "That shouldn't take you more than, oh five minutes?"

She chuckled at his obvious attempt at charm as he'd meant for her to. "_I'll see you at seven, Special Agent_."

"Phil."

She chuckled, a throaty sound that ran along his nerves like an electric shock. The good kind. "Call me Gina. _A bientôt_, Phil."

"_A bientôt, mon cher._"

~~O~~

Morning came, and Clint followed Naomi down the back stairs to the kitchen, the smell of the coffe brewing making his stomach growl. After talking with Gina, he hadn't felt hungry so he'd gone straight to bed the night before. As they neared the bottom, voices could be heard. The deeper tones of a man mixed with female laughter. The male voice was all too familiar making Clint wonder what the hell Coulson was doing here so early.

Naomi stumbled to a stop so suddenly that Clint nearly ran her down. For a stunned moment, Gina, Coulson, Naomi and Clint stared at each other. Mostly because Coulson wasn't in his ubiquitous dark suit and tie. No, this morning, Coulson was wearing a satin dressing gown over satin pajamas, sipping coffee and working on the New York Times crossword puzzle with Gina. Their heads were close together in a pose that spoke of recent intimacy.

Gina looked up when she heard them come into the room and smiled. "Naomi, dear. You remember Phil."

"Uh, yeah." If Clint was stunned, it had to be much worse for Naomi considering her mother was involved. "What, uh…"

Getting up and taking a route to the coffeemaker that passed her daughter and Clint, Gina kissed each on the cheek. "Don't stare, my dear. It's rude. You too, Clint. Coffee?"

Without waiting for an answer, Gina took down two cups, poured the fresh hot brew and handed one to each. "Are you hungry? I was about to make pancakes to go with the sausage."

Clint glared at Coulson, but the agent just smiled back. "I'll help."

While Coulson assisted Gina in making breakfast, interspersed with giggling and whispering, Clint and Naomi went to the counter and sat down studiously ignoring the fact that Clint's boss and Naomi's mother had just spent the night together.

~~O~~

Once again, Clint and Naomi walked down the streets of Southampton arm in arm. As they passed the spa, still closed after the events of the day before, Naomi stopped and left a memento for Special Agent Claire Branson. She hadn't known the agent, but the loss of her life in defense of Naomi's had touched her. She set the bear dressed as a cop-the closest she could come to an FBI agent-on the sidewalk with the flowers and cards, bowed her head for a moment of silent prayer before taking Clint's arm and continuing on their way. Then something caught Naomi's eye and she brought it to Clint's attention. "Look."

Across the street, Coulson was talking with her friend Suzanne. She was giving the SHIELD agent a seductive smile and touching him on the arm. Coulson said something that Suzanne took exception to. Great exception to go by the slap she gave him. His hand went to the area as he watched her stalk away. Seeing them, he crossed to their side of the street, the mark glaring bright red in the morning sunlight.

Clint gave it a long look then grinned. "Wow! She got you _good!_"

Naomi was giving him an unsympathetic smile knowing as she did that Coulson had been with her mother. She turned his head to look at it. "What did you _say_ to her?"

"We were supposed to have dinner last night." Unconcerned, Couslon shrugged and shoved his hands into his pocket. "And I blew her off for a better offer and told her so, but who."

"That is _way_ too much information, Phil." He touched the area and winced making Naomi grin again. "You might get a black eye out of it."

Coulson shrugged as if being slapped silly by a woman were an everyday occurance. "Had worse from Natasha."

Wincing with remembered pain, Clint rubbed his right shoulder. "_D__on't_ remind me."

Aside from his cousin, Clint had never mentioned co-workers, and Naomi was curious about this particular one. "Natasha?"

Coulson rubbed the back of his head grinning ruefully. "I guess you could call her a personal trainer."

"You work out with Natasha a lot?"

His grin more like a smirk, Clint took her hand and led her away. "Not any more than I have to."

Back in New York, Naomi stood as the maid of honor at the wedding of Serene and Donny performed in a non-denominational church in Manhattan. Everything went off without a hitch. The family met at a nearby restaurant for dinner after the service to celebrate.

On the way back to Naomi's apartment, Clint received a phone call. She could only hear Clint's side, but from the look on his face, it wasn't good news. With more than a little curiosity, Naomi blatantly listened in on the conversation. It would've been difficult not to as they were in the front seat of her car.

~~O~~

Phil finished reading the request from Fury that ordered the activation of Special Agent Clint Barton as a full-time operative. He'd been given an assignment that would last for several days. His most important one to date. Picking up the comm, he slipped it over his ear and dialed. "Clint?"

"Phil. What's up? How's Uncle Nick?"

"He's much better. In fact, we're having a party for him at the end of the week." (Your mission has been rescheduled for Friday.) "Can you pick up my suit at the cleaner's?" (Very important.)

"Tonight?" (Verify.)

"Yes. Uncle Nick wants you to come." (Fury's orders.)

Clint continued with the code. "I thought the cleaners closed at six." (Departure place and time?)

Phil had been against the mission thinking that Barton needed additional seasoning, but orders were orders. "I go to the one on Main and 5th. It closes at seven. (1900 at the private airport.)

"Okay. I'll take care of it." (Message received.)

Barton hung up without ceremony as he always did. And though Phil hadn't agreed with Fury's orders, he knew Barton would carry them out to the letter. He just hoped this mission didn't go sideways or there would be some heavy explaining to do when he got home. "Good luck."

~~O~~

By the time they reached Naomi's apartment, Clint hadn't come up with a way to tell her he'd be leaving for a while. He didn't want to go now that they'd both said the words, but he had no choice if he wanted to keep his job. And he did want to continue working for SHIELD. The alternative would be to go back to the way his life had been before. Or he could continue his education and eventually join the New York City police department. Whatever he decided, it didn't have to be right away.

More than most, he knew that sometimes you had to do things you didn't want to do in order to be able to do the things you _did_ want to do. And if taking this op meant that he could spend the time in between missions with Naomi, then it was a no brainer.

And Naomi couldn't have missed how he'd suddenly gotten quiet. To stave off the question he couldn't answer, he said, "The family is having a party for our uncle this weekend."

"So you're leaving?"

"It'll just be for three days, four at the most. I'll leave Thursday night and be back in time for class on Monday."

Naomi smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I'd like to meet your uncle someday. He seems very devoted to his family."

Clint's wry smile was missed as she turned into the parking lot of her apartment complex. "You could say that."

He waited a few beats then she asked, "Would you like to come up?'

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he reached for her over the center console. "I would." Her response made him laugh just before he kissed her.

~~O~~

Phil stood just inside the hangar watching Barton's black truck coming toward him over the tarmac. He braked to a stop along the side, took his duffle bag and bow case from the back and joined Phil already headed for the jet that would take Barton to his mission. "We have new information on Decker. The medical examiner finished the autopsy. He had a brain tumor that caused a radical shift in his personality. It was a side effect of a brain trauma he received while in the military. The OCD and delusions that his fiancée had committed suicide were part of it."

"I thought her brakes failed and she went over the cliff."

Nodding, Phil shoved one hand into his pants pocket. "The brake line had been tampered with. Someone wanted her dead. Decker's completely in the clear. He was in Newark at the time at a psychology seminar and in the company of about fifty witnesses. Everyone we talked to remembers him arriving at eight that morning. He had lunch with a group from the university and finished the seminar in the company of the head of the department."

"Any word on who might've wanted to kill her?"

"None. It's on the books as a cold case. Decker's condition made him see suicide when he should've seen murder." Phil passed Barton an envelope. "Here's your ID, credit cards, everything you need for your assumed identity."

Barton opened the envelope and pulled out the driver's license. "Marlow Fenwick? Really? You couldn't come up with less…"

"What?"

"Small town? I mean _look_ at me. How am I gonna pull _that_off?"

With a grin, Phil opened the door and pulled down the short flight of steps. "You'll do fine." He stepped back and waited for Barton to close the door before continuing. "Barton?"

With a wink Barton said in a mid-west accent, his mannerisms and expression changing to match his new identity, "The name's Marlow Fenwick. Of the Abilene, Kansas Fenwicks, o' course. You should come for Christmas. My Nana makes the _best_ sweet potato pie in Dickenson County. Won awards three years in a row at the state fair."

"It just so happens I'm free."

"I'll give y'all a call when I get back 'n we'll set somethin' up." Barton flipped him a salute and the door shut. The engines of the Lear whined and moments later it was in the air. As the aircraft disappeared into the sky, Phil wondered how he could wangle an invitation to Christmas dinner at Gina DeLuca's. They'd spent one incredible night together, but he would never presume that he'd be welcome. If he was invited, he'd still have to leave in time to stop and visit his mother in the nursing home though he wouldn't stay long.

Each time he visited she was so much worse than before. She hadn't even recognized him the last few times. He'd thought about talking to SHIELD's R&D regarding their work on a cure for dementia, but refused to use his position for personal gain, so now she was on the waiting list to receive the treatment as soon as it was perfected, but under her maiden name. Coulson wasn't exactly a common name, and someone might get the idea to reprioritize the list in his favor.

It hadn't turned out to be necessary as his mother had a massive heart attack and passed December thirtieth. He arranged a small private memorial in accordance with her wishes and had her cremated. When he'd returned to the helicarrier, he scattered her ashes at sea and saying a prayer for her soul.

**Two Weeks Later**

Going out into the hall, Serene paused before knocking on Naomi's door. Her friend answered the door looking as if she hadn't slept the entire time that Clint had been gone, and maybe she hadn't. His three day trip to visit his uncle had turned into two weeks.

Serene and Donny had gone with Naomi to Clint's apartment just the day before to find all of his belongings gone and someone else moving in. Until that day, Naomi had thought that he'd had a family emergency that was keeping him from coming back or calling. But now, they were all beginning to think that he'd scared himself by telling Naomi he loved her and had run like a frightened rabbit.

Naomi went to sit on the sofa and Serene followed. "Heard anything yet?"

"No."

"Did you try contacting his cousin? What was his name, Phil?"

Her friend nodded. "I got a call from him the middle of last week. He said that Clint had been delayed, that he was fine, but would be gone another two or three days. But he didn't say why Clint hadn't called himself. I tried to get to him through the FBI, but no one would even admit that they worked there. I guess it's standard procedure, but it sucks."

Serene rubbed Naomi's shoulder. "I'm sorry, honey. Is there anything Donny and I can do?"

"No." She pointed to her bags sitting by the door. "I'm going go stay with Mother until after New Year's. Maybe I'll hear something by then."

"He'll know to call you there?"

Naomi shrugged. "I left a bunch of messages on his cell. At least I did until it stopped working. The last time I called I got a Greek restaurant."

Getting to her feet, Serene picked up one of the bags while Naomi shouldered the other. "Come on. I'll walk you to the car."

~~O~~

Clint regained consciousness slowly, the light stabbing into his brain when he opened his eyes. He tried to move, but his entire body ached. His bladder had other ideas, though, so he carefully climbed to his feet and made his way to the commode on the other side of his cell by holding onto the sink for support. When he reached the toilet, his stomach heaved and what little he'd eaten made a return appearance. _Concussion,_ he thought. _A bad one._

Once he finished relieving himself, he went to the sink. The mirror was only about six by six inches forcing him to move around to see his entire head, and he didn't like what he saw. His face was bruised and his lips cut and swollen with blood dried on his chin and cheek, and matted in his hair. Lifting his shirt, he gently probed the bruised areas over his ribs on the right. At least two were cracked and one probably broken.

From the headache, dizziness and nausea, he most certainly had a concussion. His lower back and legs ached from being repeatedly kicked with a variety of steel toed boots.

Clint had no idea how long he had been in this place, what the date was or if it was even day or night. All he knew was that the only thing that kept him going, kept him from giving up during the beatings and torture visited upon his body by his captors was the thought of getting home to Naomi. When he did, he would resign from SHIELD and find some other line of work.

The water that came from the faucet was brown and smelled funny, but it was all he had. Supporting himself with one hand, he splashed cold water on her face then rinsed his mouth. Whatever was in the water stung the cuts on the inside of his mouth. He probed the area and found several loose teeth. In a moment of black humor, he hoped that SHIELD had a comprehensive dental plan.

Finally, a memory surfaced. Just before he'd been knocked unconscious again, the bigger of the guards had said something that hadn't registered, and he would be acquitted in any court in the land for missing it. After all, he had been busy losing consciousness at the time. But he now knew that he'd been held captive in this place for nearly a month though it seemed longer.

Tiny and George, as he had taken to calling his jailers, had dragged him to interrogation and tied him to the chair once again. He was at least seventy-eight percent certain that Tiny was a woman, but because she never spoke, only used electronic devices and metal tools to torture him, he had no way to know.

He also had no idea that today would be different than any other since his cover had been blown, but it was. Just before George had hit him for the last time, he said, "Merry Christmas, a*****e!" unwittingly telling him the date. December 25th. Christmas Day. A memory of the day he and Naomi had returned to New York came to him.

~~O~~

_He finished packing his clothes and set his and Naomi's bags by the door while she was showering. Going to the bed, he stripped off the linens and carried them to the laundry chute in the hall. From the linen closet, he took sheets, pillowcases and a comforter then returned to remake the bed. He was just smoothing the last wrinkle when Naomi opened the bathroom door._

"_What's this?"_

"_I changed the sheets. Don't see why the girls should have to clean up after me."_

_With a smile, Naomi reached up to kiss him. "That's sweet."_

_He shrugged and smiled back, his arms around her in a loose hug. "I aim to please."_

"_Speaking of pleasing. What do you usually do for Christmas?"_

"_Nothing really. It hasn't been a big deal for me in years."_

_Naomi stepped out of his hold and picked up her purse. "Well, it will be this year. That is if you want to celebrate with Mother and me. And it will be just us this time, at least in the morning. We sometimes go to Jared's or Suzanne's or they come here, but we don't have to."_

"_Sounds like fun. Gina decorates for the holiday, I take it."_

"_She does. Heavily. And that brings up something else I wanted to ask you. What do you want for Christmas? Since you haven't celebrated for a while, the field's probably wide open."_

_His heart skipped a beat at Naomi's question, but he didn't have to think about it because he already knew what he wanted. Wrapping her in his arms from behind, he nuzzled her neck, his nose taking in her scent as he put his mouth close to her ear and softly whispered, "All I want for Christmas…is you."_

"_Mmm. Ditto." She turned her head and kissed his cheek. "Clint, have you ever thought about looking for your brother?"_

"_A few times, but if he doesn't care enough to contact me, why should I worry about _him?_"_

"_One of you should be the bigger man."_

_Clint made one last check of the bathroom, slamming one of the drawers harder than he should have. "He left the day he turned eighteen and didn't look back. And I'm tired of looking at my life then with the eyes of the fourteen-year old boy who watched the only family he knew catch a Greyhound bus out of town. He didn't need _me_ and _I_ don't need _him._"_

_Naomi nodded understanding, picked up her bag and they made their way downstairs to say good-bye._

~~O~~

A sound at the door spun Clint out of the memory of that moment with Naomi making him dizzy. He clung to the sink to keep from falling as someone on the outside opened a small pass-through and slid a plate of unrecognizable food through, closing the small door immediately.

On the day Naomi had asked him what he wanted for Christmas, he knew he'd never want anything more than what he had at that moment. They loved each other and that was more than he'd ever expected to have. And now they were separated on this special day when they should be together, Naomi, Gina and he, being a family, just the three of them.

Stumbling to the door, he leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. Picking up the plate, he used his fingers to eat and dreamt of the best burgers in town with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen sitting across from him, knowing that one day he would be with her again.

Days later, Clint had no way to tell how many though it had to be close to New Year's, Tiny and George took turns beating and torturing him. His hands hurt like a sonofab**** and it was almost more than he could do to keep from crying out when George punched him in the ribs and he felt them shift.

Lack of proper nourishment and water had weakened him until he could barely walk on his own even after sleeping. He couldn't call it rest because the pain and his dreams saw to it that he wasn't revitalized when the guards came to get him for yet another round of _To Tell The Truth_.

George was now at bat, punching him over and over again. His consciousness wavered then winked out. And Clint never even felt the final blow.

**TBC**

**A/N: **This is the final chapter of Part One. Part Two, As Time Goes By, will begin shortly so stay tuned.

Namaste,

~Sandy


End file.
